


Lend a Hand

by Vav



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, VERY minor & non-graphic injury mention, edible arrangements TM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vav/pseuds/Vav
Summary: Hank's kind of responsible for Barry's wrist being broken. And it turns out to be kind of an important wrist. So Hank would really like to do something about it. You know, just for the greater good.
Relationships: Barry Berkman/NoHo Hank
Comments: 94
Kudos: 315





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to ao3 user OverOnTheBench for the idea of barry in a wrist cast bc of hank :) i have had no other thoughts since it came up :) set sometime after the s1 finale

Barry’s silent on the drive to the hospital. Tattooed fingers drum on the steering wheel and fiddle with the settings for the audio in the car. More bass? No, too much bass. Less treble? No, we need the treble. Front speakers only? No, it sounds better playing throughout the whole car. Should it be lou-

“Would you fucking quit it?” Barry finally breaks the silence in the middle of an Alanis Morissette song. Hank turns the volume down and puts both hands back on the wheel as they pull up to a red light. His eyes widen as Barry stares at him, jaw clenched in annoyance.

“Just trying to make things more nicer for you, jeez,” Hank explains, feigning innocence, but his hands grip the wheel tightly. Barry bounces one of his legs up and down and shakes his head, going back to his previous activity of staring out the window, completely and unfathomably irritated.

“If you wanted things to be nice for me, you wouldn’t have broken my fucking  _ wrist _ , dipshit!” Barry snaps and leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window. Hank looks over at Barry, sees his swollen wrist resting as gently as possible on top of his thigh. The positioning is awkward, but it must be what provides the most relief. He does feel a little bad, but not enough to apologize.

\-----

Since killing Barry is at the absolute bottom of the list of things Hank has the capacity or desire to do, and since there’s work to be done, Hank had no choice but to scare him. Threaten him. So he invited Barry out for a mid-day drink with some of his guys at one of the nicer country clubs in the area. Hank had “inherited” a permanently reserved table there from Goran. Partially secluded, and the wait staff knew not to ask questions.

So they got to talking. And Hank got to asking. And Barry got to refusing. And one of Hank’s men got to crushing. Hank flinched and looked away when he heard the crack. It’s not even a big hit; just a random loose end that the Chechens need taken care of. And they know Barry’s the only one who could do it clean. So Hank draped a jacket over Barry’s freshly broken wrist and guided him casually out of the country club like he does with every other piece of arm candy Barry’s sure he brings there.

\-----

Barry does the hit three days later, his left wrist in a dark blue cast that causes his hoodie to bulge in one sleeve. It really is easy. The target is alone, asleep, and in the perfect position for Barry to make everything look self-inflicted. He calls Hank afterward and curses him out before hanging up and driving home. When he gets to his apartment, he has a few texts from Hank. A lot of emojis and smiley faces and words of praise. An invitation for a real dinner at the country club. Barry turns his phone off for an entire day.

He ignores Hank’s calls for the next five. An absolutely enormous Edible Arrangement shows up one day with a note saying “Thanks you for your business! Enjoy the fruit!!!” Barry looks it up online, and this particular one cost Hank several hundreds of dollars. He sets it on the counter and tells Nick and Jermaine he’s allergic to fruit, so they can have as much as they want. Hank sends him a text that’s just his bitmoji inside of a watermelon.

Barry stupidly opens the door in response to a random knock the next day. He ordered some new headphones a few days ago, and he’s so eager for them to arrive that he doesn’t even check the peephole.

“Barry! You get my Edible Arrangement?” Hank greets loudly when the door is only halfway open. Barry goes to slam the door shut, but Hank sticks a fashionable loafer-clad foot at the base of the door to prevent Barry from doing so.

“Hank, get the fuck out of here,” Barry demands. Hank just takes his sunglasses off and hooks them onto the top of his shirt.

“Can I come in?” Hank gleefully asks, and Barry opens his mouth to say “no” when Hank pushes his way inside anyway. “Wow, that thing really is huge! Is good so far, yes?”

“What the fuck are you doing here? I thought it was obvious I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” Barry continues his vitriol as he closes and locks the door behind them.

“Your roommates home?”

“Don’t talk about my roommates.”

“Are they home?”

“No, they’re not fucking home. Now get the fuck out of my house,” Barry spits, and he’s not quite sure why exactly he’s so worked up. He did the hit. He could have just killed Hank and his guys to get out of it. But killing Hank stopped being an option a long time ago. Barry doesn’t want to think on it.

“Woah there, mister,” Hank says, visibly amused. “Someone hasn’t had enough chocolate from this Edible Arrangement.” Barry bites the inside of his cheek to stop from yelling at Hank some more. Hank already knows Barry thinks he’s insufferable. And Barry knows that Hank wouldn’t ask Barry to kill someone anymore unless his own life depended on it. 

Hank waltzes over to the kitchen counter and plucks out a chocolate covered pineapple spear. Barry stands with his arms crossed a few feet away, eyeing Hank’s actions with slowly-dissipating rage. Hank bites into the treat and grins, but then he cringes ever so slightly.

“Barry, this is room temp. Am surprised it’s not melting,” Hank informs him. “You have to refrigerate this, silly duck.” He takes another bite and hums in contentment. “Still good, though.”

“Hank, this thing’s massive, it can’t fit in the damn fridge,” Barry retorts, and Hank rolls his eyes playfully. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re here?” Hank pops the last bite of the pineapple into his mouth and sets the stick on the counter. He wipes off a tiny bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth with his knuckle, then licks the chocolate off his finger. Barry watches, then darts his eyes away once he realizes Hank’s watching him watch him.

“I just wanted to check on you, man,” Hank shrugs and moves his hands to his hips. “You did me such a massive solid, Barry. And I want to make sure you’re okay. Breaking wrist was kind of a dick move.” Barry looks down at his cast and wrinkles his nose. It still hurts to put on clothes and hold his steering wheel. He tries to do as much with one hand as he can, and grimaces through the pain for what he can’t.

“It was a complete dick move,” Barry agrees with raised brows. “What happened to threatening to kill all my friends? I kind of liked that better. I’m gonna have this stupid fucking cast on for at least another month.” Hank scoffs and takes a step closer to Barry.

“Oh, come on,” Hank drawls with a smirk playing at his lips. “At least it was not your shooting hand. Left hand isn’t dominant. You can still write. And jerk off. And open door. And drive.” Barry clears his throat and stares at the massive bouquet of fruit on his counter instead of his sudden guest. “What?”

Barry can only be mad at himself when his entire face and the tips of his ears start to go red. He just had to say it, didn’t he? Hank just had to be cheeky and coy as always, and Barry just had to go and be affected by it. It’s dumb. It’s nothing. Guys talk about their dicks all the time, right? Barry realizes he hasn’t had actual friends since the military. But Hank’s just open and casual and unfiltered. Barry knows that. But he turns red anyway.

“What?” Hank repeats as he scans Barry’s face up and down. Another step toward him. “You can still jerk off, right?” Barry rolls his eyes and looks to the side now. Goddammit, why is he being so weird about this? Hank’s just being annoying. He should just yell at him like he always does. But he’s so confused - there are too many different emotions when it comes to Hank. Barry’s forever irked, but he’s also become loyal to Hank. He listens to Hank, finds himself caring about Hank when he has no reason to do so. Well, there’s a pretty big reason. Hank’s the only person out here who even remotely gives two shits about him.

“Is that what you came to ask me?”

Hank gets even closer, only about an arm’s length away now. Barry gets the courage to look Hank in the eye once more. There’s something there, something knowing, something dark. Barry really wishes he never let Hank find out where he lives in the first place.

“You can still jerk off,” Hank repeats, and Barry swallows thickly. “Right?” Barry looks up at the ceiling. Now’s a bad time. He’s been wondering for days why he even agreed to the hit in the first place. Why he never just blocked Hank’s number or got a new number altogether. He shouldn’t want anything to do with Hank. But Hank had asked him to meet up at the country club and Barry agreed to it within a minute.

Barry shakes his head minutely. He can hear the breath that Hank draws in through his nose.

“Holy shit,” Hank remarks. “Khasan broke your jerk off wrist?” Barry slams his eyes shut and regrets even waking up this morning. His mind drifts back to that day at the country club. Hank’s polo was tight across his chest, and his expensive watch glistened in the sunlight as they sat outside. The gentle breeze carried the scent of Hank’s nice cologne over to Barry, and he felt at ease before things went to shit.

It hits him. Directly, at least. Clearly. Stupidly, dangerously. Hank’s attractive. And Hank’s in his apartment, casually talking about masturbation. Just the two of them. And Barry hasn’t touched himself in a week. He needs Hank to leave before he embarrasses himself. But then Hank’s hand is gripping his good, unscathed wrist.

“You can’t just use this one?” Hank gently asks, grazing his thumb over Barry’s pulse point.

“I tried,” Barry admits quietly, and he says it before he even realizes what he’s doing. He’s giving in. Or making a fool of himself. Maybe both, depending on what Hank’s angle is. Hank clicks his tongue in disappointment.

“Does not feel the same?” Barry just shakes his head in response, no longer trusting his words. Hank’s always had this power over him, always made him a little more vulnerable than he should be. “Well, what do you plan to do for next month with cast on?” Hank’s fingertips trail up Barry’s arm lightly, then his hand is on Barry’s waist. Barry opens his eyes, and Hank’s a lot closer than Barry thought. “Your girlfriend will help you, yes?”

“We broke up. Like, a month ag-”

“Oh, such a shame,” Hank frowns, but Barry can see that he’s not sympathetic at all. Hank’s other hand comes up to Barry’s other side, and his fingertips feel impossibly heavy as they press gently into his skin through his t-shirt. “What is your plan, then?”

“I don’t- I haven’t really thought about...It’s kind of-”

“You want to show me your room?” Hank purrs, leaning forward to speak softly against Barry’s jaw. Barry freezes up completely, and he’s sure Hank must be able to hear his embarrassingly rapid heartbeat. One of Hank’s hands slides down to the waistband of Barry’s sweatpants. He dips his fingertips inside, just far enough to tease the coarse hair above Barry’s already-obvious erection. “Like, now?”

Barry nods wordlessly and turns on his heel to walk toward the master bedroom. Hank’s steps are unhurried as he follows. Barry hates it. He hasn’t jerked off in a week, week and a half. So what? He’s not a teenager, he can deal with this. He’s  _ been _ dealing with this. But Hank’s attractive. Hank’s hot. Hank brought up his dick and now Barry’s hoping he plans on doing something about it.

It’s Hank’s turn to close and lock the door behind them. He doesn’t know when or if the roommates will be home - Barry told him not to talk about them, after all. Hank respects Barry’s wishes to some degree. Just not when he’s facing certain death. And even now, Barry didn’t  _ specifically _ tell him he  _ didn’t _ want to be seduced, didn’t want to be touched. He’s technically not breaking any unspoken rules. And he’s had his eyes on Barry ever since he went on about stabbing some guy in the nut. Maybe Hank’s a fool, maybe he’s weak for pretty blue eyes and a strong jawline. But Hank thinks he just likes Barry.

“It’s only fair,” Hank begins to tell him. “It’s my fault your wrist is broke. I should make you feel good, right?” Barry stands near the foot of his bed, unsure of what to do with his hands. Hank’s in his space once more, one hand settling low on his hip, the other on Barry’s bicep.

“Hank, you don’t have to-”

“I want to make you feel good, Barry,” Hank murmurs, pupils dilated as his eyes meet Barry’s. He squeezes Barry’s bicep and moves his other hand to the front of Barry’s sweatpants, and Barry can feel the warmth radiating from Hank’s palm as his hand just hovers there. “Can I?” Hank leans in to press the softest of kisses to the corner of Barry’s mouth. “Will you let me?” Barry could rightfully pass out - the bed’s right there - but he turns his head slightly so that his lips press fully against Hank’s.

The moment Barry nods, Hank’s hand meets his cock through his sweatpants, and Barry’s mouth opens a little involuntarily. Hank uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside Barry’s mouth, and Barry’s good hand comes up to grab at the hem of Hank’s shirt. Hank massages his length through his pants, and Barry can’t help but rock his hips forward into Hank’s touch. His breath is embarrassingly ragged and heavy when Hank breaks their kiss.

“You did not tell me you were so big, Barry,” Hank purrs, and Barry only thinks briefly about how ridiculous a statement that is. When would he have ever casually talked about his dick around Hank? Around anyone? He furrows his brow, but then Hank’s cupping and rubbing his balls through his sweats, and Barry’s mind has to reset. “Feel so good. Just how I imagined.”

“Imagined?” Barry instantly responds with wide eyes. Hank nips at his jaw and his neck, and Barry can feel him smile against his skin.

“Well, of course,” Hank grins, and uses his free hand to grab Barry’s stubbly chin between his thumb and forefinger so he can steady him and kiss him deeply once more. “You are, like, hottest guy I know. And I know lot of guys.” Barry doesn’t doubt the latter, but pulls a face at the compliment anyway. Hank kisses Barry’s chin, presses his palm hard against Barry’s cock, then looks around the room casually as Barry’s knees go wobbly.

“I...okay, well, I don’t really think- that’s...You really-”

“Barry, is that new mirror?” Hank asks once his eyes land on the body-length mirror mounted to the wall next to Barry’s closet. Sally had suggested he get one so he can properly see what he looks like before he lets himself walk out of the house. “I do not recognize it from Snapchat.” Barry internally groans, and not just because Hank lets go of his dick. He used Snapchat for about two days a few months back, and he accidentally added a few blurry pictures of his room to his story. Why the hell does Hank even remember that?

“Uh, yeah. Kinda new,” Barry shrugs, and he looks down at the ridiculous bulge in his sweats, blushing hard once more. His body’s on fire, but this seems like just another day for Hank.

“Come here,” Hank instructs as he walks over to stand in front of the mirror. “This is so cool. And very fun.” 

“It’s just from IKEA.”

“So fun. Stand right here, in front of me.” Barry does as he’s told, but he stands facing Hank with his back toward the mirror. “No, no, silly. Turn around.” Barry obliges him once more, but darts his eyes away after catching just a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks pathetic.

“What are we doing?” Barry asks, a little unsure of himself. He hasn’t been sure of a lot of things recently, but this most of all. He turns his head to the side to look over his shoulder at Hank, who steps closer and finds himself pressed right against Barry’s back.

“Lucky for you, I am left handed,” Hank murmurs into a kiss between Barry’s shoulder blades. His hands settle on Barry’s hips, and Barry feels the waistband of his sweats get pulled a little lower. Hank steps a little bit to the left so he’s not directly behind Barry, for both a better angle and a better view of the two of them in the mirror. “Won’t feel exact same, but maybe it will still feel really good.”

Barry’s breath hitches and he feels something funny rise up inside him. He doesn’t tell Hank, but he’s pretty sure  _ anything _ Hank does to him would feel really fucking good. He probably would have came in his pants if Hank kept touching him how he was touching him, kissing him how he was kissing him, sweet talking him like he was.

“What do you say?” Hank prompts, and Barry blinks hard to escape his thoughts. He finally lets his eyes focus on the mirror. Hank rests his cheek against Barry’s left shoulder and grins, then speaks once more, but softer. “Can I help you cum?”

Barry doesn’t like how Hank’s able to reduce him to a boneless excuse of a man with just a few words, but he finds himself nodding rapidly. Hank meets Barry’s eyes in the mirror as he slips his hand entirely inside Barry’s pants to grab his cock. Barry feels himself twitch in Hank’s hand and closes his eyes tight for a few seconds, then opens them to look down at what Hank’s doing to him in the mirror. Hank bites his bottom lip and grins as he sees Barry’s eyes flick down to watch his steady strokes.

“So hard,” Hank whispers, and Barry bites his lip now to stifle a noise. “What were you thinking about when you tried jerking off with other hand?” He presses a kiss to Barry’s arm through the short sleeve of his t-shirt. “What turned you on?”

Barry shakes his head, cheeks perfectly on fire as he closes his eyes once more. Hank decides to drop the subject; he’s finally got Barry where he wants him, and he doesn’t want to fuck himself over. Barry balls his hands into fists and winces at the sharp pain in his healing wrist as he does so. He realizes now that he has no idea what to do with his hands. His left one’s out of commission, but his right...he’s suddenly all too self conscious, until Hank pulls down his sweatpants to mid-thigh, lets them slip down further on their own.

“Look,” Hank tells him, and Barry opens his eyes despite desperately not wanting to. Hank quickly spits into his hand before he continues stroking Barry, twisting his wrist on every pump up toward the head. Hank’s right arm snakes around Barry’s waist, hand settling on Barry’s lower belly for leverage underneath his t-shirt. Hank swipes his thumb across Barry’s sensitive slit, and Barry’s right hand flies up to grip Hank’s forearm.

“Oh my god,” Barry groans. It only encourages Hank to give him faster strokes, hand expertly working Barry’s straining cock while Barry fights the buckling of his knees. 

“Doesn’t it feel good, Barry?” Hank asks sweetly, and Barry’s never been more aroused by the sound of his own name. He nods again, breath becoming obviously labored as Hank jacks him off. “Your cock is so pretty. And big. So nice.” Another sound from Barry. Hank could get used to that. Barry’s not a man of many words, unless he’s yelling at Hank about something dumb, so any reaction from him goes straight to Hank’s dick.

“Hank, I don’t know...I don’t know how long I can go,” Barry admits in a haze, and Hank’s hand slows to give him thorough strokes from base to tip. Barry’s a little frustrated that Hank is so good at this. It’s not supposed to feel this good, not with Hank. Hank’s insufferable and idiotic and gets Barry into more trouble than Barry’s comfortable with. But Hank’s also got nice, warm hands with nimble, tatted fingers that look and feel so good on his cock.

“I know, baby,” Hank tells him, and Barry’s never heard Hank’s voice like this. Low and a little gruff. They lock eyes in the mirror again, and Barry leans forward slightly, curling in on himself just a bit and spreading his legs a little more. “Poor thing, you went so long without getting off. Don’t know how you did it.” Barry looks at himself in the mirror and feels a little wrong, hates the way he’s flushed, sweaty, and completely giving into whatever Hank wants to do to him.

Hank presses his hips forward so Barry can feel his clothed dick against his ass, and Barry’s reminded that this is more than just for him. Hank’s hard too, maybe even getting off on getting Barry off. It’s a lot to take in, but Barry can’t form another thought when Hank starts stroking just the head of Barry’s cock, saliva and precum mixing to create the most obscene sounds. He gives a punched-out moan as he leans forward even more, to the point where he takes a shaky step forward and braces himself against the frame of the mirror with his right arm.

“Shit, Barry,” Hank groans, and Barry wishes Hank would take his own pants off so he could feel him, but he doesn’t have nearly enough coherence or confidence to request such a thing. “How are you going to get off after I leave?” Barry doesn’t want to think about it. Hank being here, being behind him, having his hand wrapped perfectly around his dick, it all suddenly feels right. Another swipe across Barry’s slit. Barry bucks his hips forward into Hank’s fist, and the noise he makes is downright embarrassing. “You can’t go a whole month...Maybe you want me to come back?”

“Yes,” Barry responds immediately, voice thick with lust and ecstasy as Hank basically has him halfway bent over in front of the mirror. Barry looks down at the mirror again and his nails scratch against the wall upon seeing the way Hank’s tattooed knuckles look pumping up and down on his cock.

“Maybe I touch you some more?” Hank proposes, and Barry nods, then rests his forehead against the mirror. “Maybe suck you off?” The breath Barry lets out fogs the mirror slightly. Hank grinds against Barry’s ass once more, and Barry’s so overcome with arousal and desperation that he can already feel himself reaching his breaking point. “Maybe let you fuck me?”

“Hank,” Barry pants.

“Hm? What? You want to fuck me?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Barry all but whines, and Hank lets him fuck into his fist as he pleases, providing a tight grip for Barry to just use.

“My hand feel good, Barry?” Hank coaxes, and Barry makes a noise of vague affirmation, his eyes lidded heavily but still fixated on the way Hank’s touching him. “Am I gonna make you cum? Hm?” Hank’s voice is breathy and shaky and Barry doesn’t want to hear another sound for as long as he lives, as far as his current state of mind is concerned. Hank times his strokes with Barry’s thrusts, and Barry can’t believe this is going to be over just a few minutes after it started.

“Fuck, shit, fucking shit, Hank,” Barry hisses and slams his eyes closed. “Oh my god, Hank. Fuck!” Hank feels Barry’s abdomen tense up, then Barry’s painting the mirror white, groaning with each spurt that Hank pulls out of him. His orgasm lasts much longer than usual, and his legs are fully shaking as Hank starts to slow his hand. Hank holds Barry close, keeps him steady with his right hand as Barry tries his best to catch his breath.

“Barry,” Hank sighs dreamily, but Barry can still sense the abject lust in his voice. “Can I...Can I finish? Is okay?” Barry wonders why Hank is asking him for permission, but he pulls his head off the mirror and nods clearly. Hank lets go of him completely and Barry sees him quickly undoing the button and fly on his pants. Barry realizes for the first time - consciously - how nice and strong Hank’s thighs look as he sees one of them peeking out from behind him in the mirror.

“Shit,” Barry sighs after one final, shivering aftershock. Hank’s dick is out of his underwear and against Barry’s ass almost instantaneously, the thick, slippery head impossibly hot on Barry’s cheek.

“Barry, you look so good,” Hank moans quietly as he begins to stroke himself, and part of Barry wishes he were louder. Maybe if he takes Hank up on one of his offers…“Always look so good. Shit. You cum so nicely for me, oh my god.” Barry feels precum smear on his skin, and he gets a dangerous idea about what it’d feel like for Hank to slip between his cheeks and fuck him against the wall, maybe in front of the mirror again. Barry’s never wanted that, never entertained the idea before now. He never even thought a man would touch him the way Hank touched him just now, the way Hank continues to touch him. Hank’s breathing is ragged as he jerks off behind Barry, but enough to the side that Barry can still see his dick.

Hank’s only capable of saying Barry’s name when he cums, and if Barry were twenty years younger, he thinks he could get hard again in a few minutes after feeling the wet heat that covers one of his ass cheeks. It’s unlike anything he could have ever dreamed of - ever  _ did _ dream of. He’s felt his own on his stomach and hand and chest, but Hank’s load hitting his ass pulls one last moan out of Barry, who can’t stop staring at Hank’s blissed out face in the mirror.

Hank cleans Barry up as best as he can after shuffling to the bathroom awkwardly for a washcloth with his dick still out. Barry’s back cracks as he stands up straight and reaches down to tug his sweatpants all the way back up as Hank situates himself and zips himself back up. Barry stares at the mess on the mirror, but then Hank turns him around and pulls him back toward the bed so they can sit next to each other.

“So,” Hank grins softly, and cups Barry’s face with one hand so he can kiss him for the first time in far too long. Barry chalks it up as perhaps the only downside to fucking against the wall. Hank’s lips are a little dry now, but so are Barry’s, and they’re both too sated and hazy to care right now. “Did that do the trick?”

“It- yeah,” Barry breathes out. “Yeah, it did. Thank you.” Hank kisses the tip of his nose and makes an incredulous face at Barry.

“Don’t thank me, I’m still asshole who broke your wrist,” Hank mutters, but Barry kisses him anyway. Hank nips at his lower lip before pulling back. “But maybe it was good thing after all?”

“No, my arm being in a plaster cast for six weeks is not a good thing,” Barry tells him matter-of-factly, but it’s missing his usual bite. He’s still all starry eyed, undeniable warmth settling in his chest for the first time in a long time.

“Hm,” Hank purses his lips together in defeat. “So, like, same time tomorrow?” Barry’s eyes flick from Hank’s hopeful eyes to his lips upturned in a small smile.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting off with Hank kind of becomes as integral to Barry's daily routine as a strong cup of coffee in the morning. Maybe that's embarrassing, but Barry's too busy keeping his dick wet to think about it for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who ordered the second installment of my excuse to write meaningless nobarry smut ? anyone ?

“Do you want your wrist to heal or no?” Hank asks in exasperation as he gingerly relocates Barry’s left hand from the back of his head to its rightful place on Barry’s thigh. Barry deflates and sighs, settling back as comfortably as he can while bare-assed on his desk chair. “Remember what doctor said.”

It’s been a few days of this. Hank comes over every single day to take care of Barry, maneuvering around Barry’s new work schedule, acting class, the roommates, and Hank’s own plans and responsibilities. Sometimes that means making out at 9 in the morning. Sometimes it’s Hank leaving with his shirt wrinkled at 11 at night. Barry thought things wouldn’t be as special or feel as good after the first time, but he’s enjoying Hank more and more with each passing day. He doesn’t even usually touch himself every day  _ without _ the broken wrist, but Hank insists that Barry’s needs be met. And Barry is not about to pump the brakes when Hank’s the one doing this for him, to him. 

“Fuck off,” Barry retorts flatly, and Hank looks up at him from between his legs with a challenging grin. Today, on Barry’s day off, Hank had come over as Barry was in the middle of writing his assignment for tonight’s acting class. Barry told Hank to give him just a few minutes and he’d be done, but then Hank was on his knees, and, well…

“Oh, I can fuck right off if you are going to have attitude today,” Hank informs him. “Then what will you do, huh? Fuck your pillow?” Hank first got on his knees for Barry two nights after their first...whatever this is. Hookup? Is it a hookup if it’s every single day, with kissing and light aftercare and a promise to see each other the next day? Barry’s not sure. All he knows is that he’s pretty much addicted to the feeling of Hank’s mouth around him. Hank drags his hand from the base of Barry’s dick to the tip and rubs his palm over the head once. His tone shifts back to a gentle and playful demeanor. “You do not need to hold my head with two hands. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You just said you would leave,” Barry complains, and the way he’s still being grumpy while simultaneously being flushed and a little slack-jawed makes Hank smirk. His knees begin to ache, but the look on Barry’s face and the tight grip Barry has on the back of his head make everything worth it. 

“Just stop trying to hurt yourself. I don’t leave until you cum on my face,” Hank tells him, then sinks down to take half of Barry’s dick back into his mouth. Barry groans at the return to wet, velvety heat, and Hank doesn’t hesitate to continue sucking his dick like he was before he was so rudely interrupted.

Hank’s found out that Barry’s a bit loud. He should have guessed it, from all the times Barry’s gone off on him like a youth soccer coach, but it’s still incredibly arousing in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Wherever they end up together. Barry’s reserved most of the time, though. Around his roommates, around the rest of the acting class, around his coworkers, around the pizza delivery guy. There’s something about Hank that just brings out something passionate and desperate inside of him. It’s probably the whole being-a-massive-fucking-prick thing Hank has going for him. And his mouth, his body, his hands, the way he says Barry’s name. Maybe just his everything.

This is all so new to Barry, and the circumstances are so strange and out of the ordinary to him, but he does his best to be a good sport and try new things with Hank without being too shy or stubborn. So he lets Hank straddle him the next day, lets Hank press his cock against Barry’s own and grind and rub and thrust. Barry’s wordlessly transfixed until Hank folds himself over and whispers praise and filth into Barry’s ear. The fact that Barry’s able to get Hank this worked up every day is a bit of a confidence booster. Hank always feels him up while they make out, rubs his thighs and grabs his ass and admires his strong arms and kisses all over Barry’s chest and stomach on the days when they lose all or most of their clothes. They haven’t revisited the mirror, but Barry wonders if maybe he’d be less self conscious for a second round knowing Hank seems to love his body so much, for whatever reason.

-

‘Only have an hour after class tonight. You don’t have to come over if you don’t want,’ Barry texts Hank while on his lunch break a few days later when he’s got a long shift at work followed by acting class. Nick and Jermaine are planning on getting a quick drink or two after class with some of the guys, and they give Barry a whole lot of shit for bailing. Barry doesn’t get a text back from Hank.

The day is long and gruelling. Barry’s wrist is feeling better, but he exerts himself too much by agreeing to fold a bunch of shirts when the store is slow in the late afternoon. He pops a few ibuprofen on another break, and considers asking Hank to come over after his roommates go to sleep. They can be quiet, right? They haven’t been so far, but Barry figures he can manage. He never used to be loud before Hank. Regardless, he shakes himself out of the thought. What a selfish thought. There’s no reason why Barry should be legitimately  _ sad _ about not getting laid for the first time in two weeks, anyway.

Acting class takes his mind off of things for a little while. They do some silly exercises, go over their assignments, then try to actually rehearse for their upcoming showcase. He’s on speaking terms with Sally again, Mr. Cousineau’s back and more enthusiastic than ever, and he can really feel that he’s improving. At least, that’s what Mr. Cousineau keeps telling him. He still heads home after class, even though his plans for the night fell through. Barry decides to make the most of his night anyway, and stops at CVS on the way home to pick up some more Powerade and snacks for the house.

Hank’s parked outside his apartment complex when Barry gets home from the store. It’s 8:45.

“What the fuck, man?” Hank shouts upon exiting his car and slamming the door shut once Barry manages to find street parking not too far away. Hank’s not necessarily angry, Barry can tell, but he must be fairly annoyed. He still has his messenger bag, though. That’s what he’s been bringing over lately. It has his laptop and a hat in it, but the side pockets are full of travel packets of lube. Barry didn’t even know those existed until yesterday afternoon when Hank pulled one out before he took both of their cocks in one of his hands and stroked them together. Barry now has a very,  _ very _ fond association with those little packets.

“I thought you weren’t coming!” Barry defends himself in as hushed a tone as he can manage, his canvas shopping bag dangling heavily at his side while Hank walks over to where Barry just parked, two cars down. The last thing he needs is for one of his neighbors to eavesdrop on a less than appropriate conversation between him and his fuck buddy. He and Hank both know to start moving quickly toward the apartment. All the fooling around has put them on a similar wavelength. “I texted you saying things would be tight and then you didn’t respond.” 

“I did not say I  _ wasn’t  _ coming!” Hank counters. His footsteps on the stairs are loud and quick while Barry takes two stairs at a time. Hank wishes they had more time tonight, so he could kiss his way up those long legs of Barry’s. Another day. Or night. Maybe a night when he has the courage to stick around afterward. Barry’s never explicitly told him to get out, but Hank just expects it. And Barry’s never told him to stay. “I have just been sitting here for, like, half hour. Do you have any idea how horny I am?” Barry rolls his eyes as Hank lectures him like he stayed out past curfew.

They get to the top of the stairs, and Barry pauses for a second as he tries to remember where his keys are. Of course, he slipped them into his back right pocket. He considers reaching back to grab it with his left hand so he doesn’t have to drop the goods, but they don’t have time for Hank to lecture or punish him for possibly doing more damage to his wrist. Barry begins to lower the bag to the ground when Hank interjects.

“Where?” Hank asks, clueing into Barry’s dilemma. 

“Back right.” Hank nods and reaches around Barry to save Barry the trouble. He slips his hand into Barry’s pocket, but instead of grabbing the keys out, he kneads his ass with one hand and pushes Barry against the front door by his crotch with the other. “Hank! We don’t have time for this.”

“You need to relax, you’ve had such a long day,” Hank tells him sweetly, then slots their lips together to kiss Barry a little roughly, a little rushed. Barry almost gives in. He lets Hank kiss and touch him for a few seconds, lets Hank press the heel of his palm into the front of his pants, because it feels fucking  _ nice _ . But then he turns his away and shakes his head.

“I can relax  _ inside my fucking apartment _ ,” Barry states. His voice is already low and gruff and Hank grins triumphantly as he pulls the keys out and unlocks the front door. Barry drops the bag immediately upon entering, and Hank guides him swiftly into the bedroom by hand after closing and locking the door. “They’re gonna be home in, like, ten minutes. Fifteen tops.”

“Ooh, a quickie,” Hank says playfully with a little wiggle of his shoulders. Barry shuts his bedroom door per usual, and Hank sets his bag on Barry’s desk. “On the bed. Shirt off, pants off. Leave underwear on.” Barry’s eyebrows raise. Hank’s never been so straight and to the point with his instructions. And Barry’s never had such a strong urge to follow them. 

Barry’s half hard when Hank finally gives him the time of day, turning around from the desk and settling his gaze on a mostly-naked Barry. Hank only takes his coat and shoes off, draping the former over Barry’s desk chair, then stalks over to the bed. Barry sees something in one of Hank’s hands, but he’s transfixed by Hank’s expression. Hank looks hungry. Determined. Like he’s been thinking about this for far too long.

“Hard for me already?” Hank teases as he kneels on the end of the bed, then begins to make his way up to where Barry’s laying. Barry props his head up with two pillows so he can properly see what Hank intends to do. “You must be so pent up. Such a long day.” He runs his empty hand up Barry’s thigh and rubs his fingers along the bulge in his boxer briefs.

“Yeah, don’t make it any longer,” Barry manages to say without sounding like a complete mess even though Hank’s hand on him is already doing wonders. If this were any other day, Hank would make him pay for getting a little sassy. Barry likes being teased and strung out, Hank’s found. But for now, Hank continues to stroke him through the fabric as he leans over Barry, bracing himself with a hand beside his head so he can kiss him properly. Barry lets their tongues laze together, and he feels a bit of precum begin to stain his underwear. Barry loves everything he’s done with Hank so far, but every sensation is ten times more intense when he gets to kiss Hank. Hank’s been “taking care of him,” making him feel good for a while now, and Barry still can’t stop thinking about Hank’s lips as he lies awake at night. “Hank, I don’t think I can finish in ten minutes.”

“I think you can,” Hank whispers against his mouth, then works his way over to kiss along Barry’s jaw. Barry squirms as he thickens up in Hank’s hand, growing harder and harder as Hank plays with him and drags his lips over his stubble.

“I don’t know,” Barry murmurs, brow furrowed in vague concern. “It’s never happened before.” Hank reaches up to grab whatever’s in the hand beside Barry’s head, and Barry’s reflexes are too slow to get a glimpse of what it is as Hank brings down to Barry’s crotch. He figures it’s just lube; Hank knows how much he liked it last time. But Barry feels vibrations on his cock before he can register the situation.

“I think I can make you,” Hank growls into Barry’s ear as he holds a small toy against the underside of Barry’s dick through his underwear. It takes all of Barry’s energy not to arch his back so much he pulls a muscle in response to the intense, foreign sensation. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Holy shit, what the fuck is that?” 

“Barry, have you really never used toys in the bedroom?”

“No, what the fuck is that? Oh, fuck,” Barry moans as Hank slides it up slightly toward his cockhead. 

“Bullet vibrator.  _ Super  _ fun,” Hank grins and bites at Barry’s neck, just below his ear. Barry pushes at Hank’s shoulder slightly, just to get him to pull back enough so that Barry can look down and get a good view. Hank’s holding a small, thin, black vibrator, no more than four inches long, and Barry can visibly see his own briefs getting a touch stickier. 

Hank doesn’t pull his stained underwear down until Barry’s fully erect, then he gives Barry a break from the vibrator for a few seconds so he can slick up Barry’s cock with his own precum. Hank gives Barry a searing kiss, flicks his tongue against Barry’s and bites his bottom lip before he pulls back completely to just kneel between Barry’s legs. When the vibrator turns back on, it’s against Barry’s balls on the lowest setting, and Hank wraps his hand snugly around Barry’s shaft so he can start stroking him properly.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Barry hisses, his head spinning a little from how hard he got in such a short amount of time. Hank stops his hand at the base of Barry’s dick and brings the bullet back up to press right against the underside of the head, where he knows Barry’s the most sensitive. There’s no time for Hank to think about why he’s become so intimately familiar with every inch of Barry’s body, and so invested in exactly what makes his toes curl. “Ohhh my fucking - Hank, Jesus Christ.” Hank hums in appreciation and teases the vibrator right there for a few moments.

“What’s that about not cumming in ten minutes?” Hank purrs, and Barry wishes he could do something to wipe that cocky little smile off of Hank’s face. Barry’s right hand grips at his comforter for mercy as his left just lays flat on the bed to his side. His injury prevents him from doing exactly what he wants and grabbing Hank exactly how he wants to grab him. But being at Hank’s beck and call at virtually every moment stokes the fire in Barry’s belly, whether or not he wants to admit it.

“I don’t - it feels so good, I don’t want it to be over,” Barry tells him, voice shaky, as he tries to thrust against the vibrator, but Hank holds his cock in place with a firm hand. Hank shrugs one shoulder, not even marginally sympathetic, and resumes pumping his cock, moving the toy to his balls once more. Barry lets out a loud, uneven breath, and Hank’s eyes rake his entire body. Blush creeping down from his face to his neck. Chest heaving, his nipples hard. Thighs beginning to shake. He’s only had the vibrator on him for two or three minutes. Hank feels powerful. He’s used to being the one guiding their escapades in Barry’s apartment, but now he feels fully and completely in control.

“Believe me,” Hank starts, and he eyes Barry to gauge his reaction as he moves the toy beneath his balls, vibrations more focused on his perineum now. Barry’s mouth falls open and he shudders out a breath. “This is  _ not _ last time you will see this toy. Okay?” Hank applies a little more pressure with the vibrator, and Barry’s cock twitches in his hand. “Jesus fuck, you really are sensitive.”

“Why does that feel so good?” Barry babbles, and Hank sees his knuckles going white as he grips the bed covers. Hank tilts his head to the side, just watches Barry’s body react to his ministrations. “Hank, why does it feel so fucking good?” His mind begins to wander. Hank doesn’t dare move the vibrator any lower, but he’s certain he will one of these days.

“That is my favorite spot, too,” Hank tells him softly, but he teases Barry’s slit with multiple swipes of his thumb. Barry moans and thrashes his head to one side, then Hank’s hand is off of his cock.

“Hank!”

“It’s okay, just enjoy it,” Hank instructs, and there’s something so unimaginably sexy about watching Barry, in all his 6’2”, broad-shouldered glory, writhe and moan and pant underneath him while Hank’s still fully clothed.

“Hank, I need to cum,” Barry urges, and he’s bordering on that impatient, snappy tone that he usually reserves for when Hank’s being flippant and aloof in a serious situation.

“Barry, you just said you do not want it to be over,” Hank retorts, and Barry rolls his eyes in horny frustration. Hank trails the vibrator along Barry’s inner thighs, and Hank’s not sure if the movement is conscious or not, but Barry spreads his legs a little wider.

“Hank, god fucking dammit.”

“Yeah?” Hank purrs, and he moves the vibrator back between his legs, nestling the tip of the bullet up against the base of Barry’s balls while the rest of it buzzes against his perineum once more. “Do you want to cum like this? Will you cum like this if I touch you?” He turns up the speed on the toy, not unleashing its full power on Barry, but giving Barry more of what he wants nonetheless.

“Fuck! Yes, please, holy shit, Hank, please,” Barry begs, and Hank’s mouth goes dry, something tightening in his chest at the sight and sounds. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, god, fuck.” Hank bites the inside of his cheek. He could dwell on that for a  _ while _ , but he grinds the vibrator against Barry’s perineum instead, and strokes Barry in earnest, giving special attention to the head of his cock. “Hank! Oh my god.” 

Barry’s moans are low and nonstop as he cums, his balls tightening as he spills all over his belly and Hank’s hand, some strands making it up toward his chest hair. His toes curl hard and his breaths come rapidly. And for once, his eyes are open, watching Hank play with him and stroke him and gaze so heavily, so fondly at him. Hank makes sure he’s gotten every last drop out of Barry, and lets Barry shiver twice from overstimulation before he turns the vibrator off. 

Hank keeps his messy hand on Barry’s chest as he leans back up to kiss him tenderly, breaking the kiss every few seconds while Barry attempts to even out his breathing. Their noses bump together as Barry gets lazier and lazier with his efforts.

“Was that embarrassing?” Barry asks so quietly that Hank’s eyes soften just from that. “I came so quickly.” Hank rolls his eyes fondly.

“Barry, that was whole point,” Hank reminds him and kisses his cheek. It’s sweet. Hank does that a lot after they finish, and he really doesn’t have to. They both know that. But they both like when he does it anyway. “We have plenty of days for me to use that on you for much longer.” Barry feels his cheeks heat up again. 

“Are you...Do you want me to...Touch you? You’re still dressed.”

“I am. And I am going back to stash house. And I will jerk off. Probably twice,” Hank’s grin is cheeky, but Barry truly does wish he could reciprocate. He’d love to try out the toy on Hank, let Hank tell him exactly where and how he wants it. “Besides, no time.” Hank quirks a hairless brow in intrigue. “Did you say you think of me all day today?” Barry doesn’t really ever stop thinking about Hank, but he also doesn’t have the guts to respond to that question, so he makes a concerted effort to kiss Hank properly again. “Because I will think of you all night.” Barry shivers again, then Hank finally climbs off of him. 

Hank cleans Barry up as usual - they’ve invested in some tissues and wipes for the bedroom - and washes his hands and the vibrator as best as he can in just one minute. He knows they don’t have much time left. Barry’s legs are a little wobbly as he rises from the bed and gets out a clean pair of boxers and some pajama bottoms. Hank steps back into his shoes and packs his bag back up, slinging it over his shoulder. Words get caught in Barry’s throat as he watches Hank prepare to leave. It sinks in. He wants to ask Hank to stay. 

Instead, Hank opens the bedroom door, but stops to turn and kiss Barry, who’s right behind him, quickly before he steps further into the living room. Barry’s heart leaps and he reaches for Hank’s wrist, but all he catches is air at the same time that the knob on the front door turns from the outside.

“Barry, we’re ho-ome!” Jermaine announces in a sing-song voice. “Oh, shit.” The pair of them walk through the door, and they both eye Hank warily before looking at Barry, who’s incriminatingly shirtless. Hank’s grip on the strap of his messenger bag tightens, but he puts on a charming smile. 

“Who’s...this?” Nick asks, eyebrows drawn together in concerned confusion.

“Hello!” Hank greets them with a small wave as he still stands awkwardly in the middle of the space. “I am Henry. I am massage therapist for Mr. Berkman.” Barry’s eyes widen, but then he smiles convincingly for his roommates and nods. Barry likes them as much as he can, and it helps that they’re so obtuse that it’s incredibly easy to lie to and hide things from them. 

“Oh...Massage therapist?” Jermaine asks, still a little perplexed. Barry takes a few steps so he’s standing near Hank in the living room. “I guess you do look more relaxed than usual.” Barry tenses his jaw, and he can see the shit-eating grin on Hank’s face out of the corner of his eye. Jermaine looks at Nick. “Do massage therapists usually go to peoples’ houses?” Nick purses his lips and tilts his head.

“I don’t know,” Nick response, then focuses back on Hank. “Don’t you need, like, a table?” Every single second of this makes Barry want to bang his head against their kitchen countertop. Hank goes to respond, and Barry wonders what he’ll pull out of his ass, but Jermaine interrupts before anyone else can speak. 

“What accent is that?” he ponders, and Hank tries to answer that question, too, but is cut off again. “Is that...that Croatian?”

“Oh, I totally got this. We were just practicing accents in Mr. Cousineau’s class,” Nick chimes in. “Latvian.”

“Czechoslovakian,” Jermaine tries.

“Ooh, good one. Yugoslavian.”

“Phlegm...What’s that weird one Natalie was talking about?”

“Flemish!”

“Flemish, are you Flemish? Are you from...Flemland?” 

Hank stares at them, expecting them to say more. Barry has the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh, but these two owe him rent in three days and he wants to keep them in a good mood.

“‘Kay, no,” Hank says bluntly, but still looks and sounds amused. “Good guesses, though, guys, great guesses, really. I am from Russia.” 

“Ohhhhh,” Nick and Jermaine say in unison. Jermaine points at Hank and nods, and Nick puts his hands on his hips.

“What part of Russia?” Jermaine asks. Barry never told Hank how...curious his roommates are. They were never really meant to interact. At least, neither of them ever planned for this. But Hank’s more of a wing-it kind of guy, anyway.

“Moscow,” Hank lies, and Barry smiles politely. “What can I say? I am just city boy, I guess.” Jermaine hums and grabs the grocery bag from beside the front door, then he and Nick head into the kitchen.

“Oh, sick, Powerade!” Jermaine exclaims as he removes some of the bottles from the bag while Nick puts away the snacks, and Barry’s suddenly  _ very  _ thankful he convinced himself not to buy the condoms he had placed in his basket at CVS. Hank makes his way to the front door. “Kinda late for a massage.”

“Yeah, but he’s cheap,” Barry shrugs, following Hank to the door. Hank shoots a  _ look _ back at Barry. Barry opens the door for Hank, and Hank looks back into the kitchen.

“Was very nice meeting you, boys. I would offer handshake but I still have a bit of massage oil on mine,” Hank smiles, and it’s Barry’s turn to glare. Jermaine and Nick say goodbye quickly and politely as Hank steps out onto the landing. Barry turns around and sees Jermaine stocking the fridge and Nick stocking the pantry, both facing away from the door.

“Goodnight,” Barry whispers, and Hank has to grin at how sleepy and hazy he looks. Jermaine was right - he does look relaxed. He nods at Barry, and turns to walk down the stairs, but Barry grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him back in for a soft kiss. It only lasts a second or two, but it drags Hank up onto his tiptoes and leaves him sated enough for right now. When he pulls away, Hank bites his bottom lip and just lets his eyes linger on Barry’s face for a moment before he heads out.

Once he’s back at the stash house, Hank sends Barry a picture of his hard, neglected dick and a Venmo request for $50, “Since I am so cheap and all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so much for reading! chapter 3 should be on its way before too long. in the meantime, come yell at me in the comments, drop some kudos, or raid my twitter dms @wehohank :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buying a toothbrush and soap for your fuck buddy so he can stay the night isn't gay. It's called hospitality. Barry's simply returning the favor (the favor being: Hank making him see stars 7 days a week).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this is just raunch city basically, but like with feelings this time. Thank you all for sticking around, and I can't wait to give you chapter 4!

Barry squints as the fluorescent light above him flickers on and off repeatedly. His basket is still empty. He’s the only one in the store; CVS just opened three minutes ago. There’s an employee stocking chips a few aisles behind him. Barry eyes the toothbrushes cautiously.

Hank only left Barry’s apartment about five hours ago. He had to come over after Barry’s roommates fell asleep, not wanting another run-in like the night prior so soon. Barry’s roommates are easy to fool and please, but nobody needs a fake massage two days in a row. 

Barry spots a two pack of sturdy-looking toothbrushes, one blue and one orange, and puts it in his basket. He takes a few steps to the left and picks out a tube of toothpaste from the brand he usually uses. Looking down at the contents of his basket makes him feel wrong and embarrassed, because what if Hank doesn’t even want to stay the night? What if Hank walks into his bathroom, sees the beveled, wooden tray (Sally had left herself logged into Pinterest on Barry’s computer) full of new, spare toiletries, and leaves? Barry supposes they can be for the next person, if there is one. Or he’ll just use them himself.

A few more people come into the store as Barry tries to pick out some body wash and lotion, and it makes him feel less weird. They don’t know he’s attempting to pick out soap for the guy who gets him off on the daily. Barry just uses a bar of soap, but he thinks Hank might like something a little more sophisticated and nice-smelling. So he smells a few bottles of liquid body wash and picks out something a little citrusy, and gets some small bottles of generic lotion and sunscreen from another aisle. He skips the haircare section and finds himself in front of the condoms once more.

Last night - this morning? - Hank had slicked up his own inner thighs and laid sideways on the bed. Barry sidled up behind him, and the second he got his cock between Hank’s legs, it was over for him. He had to bite Hank’s shoulder to keep from making noise as he fucked his thighs. Hank’s hushed litany of “fuck me, Barry, that’s it, fuck me” certainly didn’t help. It wasn’t even sex, or at least not what Barry thinks sex is, but Barry’s legs are still a little tingly from the orgasm he had that made a mess of Hank’s legs as well as his own bedsheets.

Barry stares at the male and female symbols on the packaging of his favorite brand of condoms. Well, the only brand he’s ever used. He puts two boxes in his basket.

‘8?’ Barry texts Hank later in the morning. He’s off of work today and doesn’t have acting class, and his roommates will both be at work at night. He’d suggest earlier, but Hank definitely didn’t get home until about three in the morning, and Barry knows he has things to do once he wakes up, whenever that is. Hank values his sleep. That’s why Barry nervously sets out the pack of toothbrushes on his bathroom counter, hiding the rest away in a drawer. Hank deserves to be sleeping in the hazy twilight hours, not fighting every single red light on his way across town in his Prius.

‘OMG, I TOTALLY FORGOT,’ Hank responds almost immediately. He sends Barry a selfie. Hank’s smile is what Barry catches onto first, followed by his nice suit, and the badge on a lanyard hanging around his neck. ‘Motivational speaking conference in San Diego. Not back until tomorrow. Sorryyyyy!!’ Hank sends several crying emojis a minute later.

‘No problem,’ Barry texts back, but it’s a little bit of a problem. Because Barry keeps opening the picture Hank sent, then swiping back to the last dick pic he got, then back to the suit picture. Barry can’t even see Hank’s pants, but the crisp white button-down and pressed, gray suit coat are enough. Barry looks down at his cast. The fucking cast. He still can’t touch himself how he likes. And it really shouldn’t be an issue, but his mind starts wandering, starts thinking about Hank in slacks pressed right up behind him. Starts thinking about Hank unzipping but not unbuttoning his slacks, and sliding his-

‘I will make tomorrow worth it. Promise ;)’ Barry’s phone goes off with another text, and it makes his heart leap. Barry puts his phone face down on his bed so he can do everything in his power to stop thinking about getting on his knees for Hank, who’s fully dressed in an expensive suit. He wouldn’t be good at it, and maybe he wouldn’t even like it, but now he can’t stop thinking about it on a loop. Barry texts his supervisor to see if he can pick up an extra shift today.

Barry tosses and turns at night. Hank is supposed to be in his bed. Or at least be there to give him a flat out rejection of being in his bed. Barry just wants an answer. He was hoping today could be the day where he at least gets a little direction as to what to do with the inkling of feelings he knows is creeping up on him. He puts on a dumb podcast Hank recommended to him and tries to fall asleep.

——

Barry has the apartment to himself the next night, and he tells Hank as much. There’s another party at Natalie’s, and Barry gets out of it by telling everyone he has a migraine. He needs to be careful about missing any more social events with his acting friends; Jermaine already asked him why he’s been kind of antisocial lately. There’s no good excuse. Dick shouldn’t be an excuse. But he missed Hank. Misses Hank more and more, even when they only go twelve hours without seeing one another.

“Barry!” Hank grins once Barry opens the front door. Barry tries to play it cool, but he can’t help but give Hank a small smile. Hank’s in his arms immediately, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before embracing him. “You smell so good. You just showered?” Hank feels Barry nod against the side of his head. “So nice.” They pull apart, Barry closes the front door, and Hank makes his way over to the couch. “How is wrist?”

“You know it’s fine,” Barry retorts. “You don’t have to keep worrying about it. It doesn’t even really hurt anymore. The cast’s just keeping everything in place.” Hank sits down, and Barry comes to join him. Barry’s demeanor is calm, but he really does wish Hank would stop doting on him, or pretending to dote. 

“Oh, yeah?” Hank asks, “So you can open jar of lingonberry jam from IKEA with that hand?” Barry rolls his eyes, and sits down next to Hank on the couch. Hank makes a point to scoot over a few inches so their legs are touching. This is usually what they do when they have time and the place to themselves. Sit together and talk and look and lightly touch until Hank’s got Barry’s dick in his hand or his mouth.

“You don’t even like that jam.”

“How would you know?”

“You’ve told me,” Barry states flatly, and Hank’s hand finds Barry’s knee. “Several times.” His voice is a little shaky, finding himself anxious for some reason. They’ve been apart for not even two days. If Barry really can’t go two days without Hank, this is definitely bad news for him.

“Fine,” Hank concedes. He turns his body slightly so he can get a better view of Barry’s face. “Since your wrist is better, did you touch yourself yesterday?” Barry feels his palms start to sweat. He’s seen Hank naked, had Hank’s cum on his body and vice versa, yet he still flushes every single time Hank initiates things. It’s dumb to be nervous. This is what Hank’s here for, after all. Hank catches Barry’s eyes scanning up and down Hank’s face and torso. “Hm? You jerk off for me since you are feeling so much better?”

Barry wonders what Hank would do if he said yes. He wonders if Hank would get up and leave, and they’d go back to their routine of only seeing each other once every few weeks. Barry wonders if that’s what will happen when the cast comes off.

Something deep in his gut doesn’t think so. And everything in his brain says he hopes not.

“I...said it doesn’t _really_ hurt anymore,” Barry clarifies awkwardly, but Hank finds it endlessly endearing, thumb stroking soothingly over Barry’s jean-clad thigh. “I still can’t do things like normal. There’s still...a little bit of pain. Plus the cast. It just really gets in the way.” Barry doesn’t even like scratching an itch on his opposite arm with the cast on - it’s clunky and uncomfortable against his skin in every capacity.

“Oh, yeah, I bet it does,” Hank agrees, but Barry can’t discern his tone. It doesn’t even matter. If Hank was playfully accusing him of drawing this whole arrangement out longer than it probably needs to last - as if it was necessary to begin with - then he’d be right, and Barry can’t even fight it at this point. He just hopes it’s not so obvious. Barry clears his throat.

“How was your conference?” Barry asks.

“Oh, it was great! Thank you for asking,” Hank responds pleasantly, and he sounds genuine. Like this is just a casual scenario they’d find themselves in after a long day at work for the pair of them. Hank turns away from Barry slightly so he can lean into him, and Barry places an arm around him as Hank’s hand creeps up his thigh. “Lots of great stuff. Cool people. Shed a few tears.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It was,” Hank affirms softly “But I miss you yesterday.” Barry remembers Hank’s text from the morning prior. He said he’d make his absence worth it. Barry thinks it’s kind of nice just sitting here together, feeling Hank’s body heat against him and Hank’s eyes on his face whenever Hank chances a glance upward. But Hank doesn’t need to know that. That’s not in the plan. “Thought about you. I was all alone in hotel room.” Barry feels a blush begin to spread across his cheeks.

“Uh. What did you think about?” Barry tries, testing out something Hank’s asked him on numerous occasions, mostly the times when he showed up to find Barry already half or completely hard. Hank shifts and leans further in to press his nose against the side of Barry’s neck. His lips ghost up to his jaw, where he plants a kiss before moving up to his ear. He catches Barry’s lobe between his teeth, and the exhale from Barry is exactly what he’s looking for.

“I think about how you would feel inside me,” Hank murmurs in his ear, and Barry’s wracked with a shiver as his entire body heats up. “And which side of the bed you’d want. And if you’d want to shower before or after me. Or together.” Hank nips at the skin right below Barry’s ear. “God, the bed was so big, Barry. Crazy huge. Too big for just little old Hank.” He kisses his way back to Barry’s mouth and licks along his bottom lip before kissing him properly. “You should have been there.”

Hank’s in Barry’s lap before Barry has time to register that Hank’s hand isn’t on his thigh anymore. This isn’t new territory, but Hank just told Barry he was essentially fantasizing about them having sex. Actual sex. Not that blowjobs and handjobs and all the kissing and grinding in between aren’t amazing, but of course Barry’s thought about fucking Hank properly. Hell, he admitted it the first time Hank came over and wrung and orgasm out of him in his most insecure state. This isn’t news to either of them.

“Or you should have been here,” Barry manages, and Hank gasps before pressing his lips against Barry’s so he can avoid his knee jerk reaction to say something entirely too emotional and dumb and stupid and sentimental and gross.

“Do you want to fuck me, Barry?” Hank asks breathily when he has the chance and the courage. It’s not that he thinks Barry will say no, it’s that this is all real, so real that it makes him nervous. Barry nods through a kiss, and Hank cups his face with both hands to keep him steady. “Want to fuck me right here?” Barry slows down, stops kissing back with as much effort, and Hank gets a little tense. Maybe too real.

“You don’t want to go to my bed?” Barry asks with concern plaguing his forehead. He eyes the door briefly, then his eyes focus back on Hank, whose swollen lips and glistening eyes are downright mesmerizing. Hank smiles fondly.

“Well, I am not going to bed. And what are you going to do? Carry me? With one hand?” Hank scoffs, and Barry gives him a look of exasperation. Barry’s eyes dart to the door once more. “Oh, you are afraid of someone coming home?” Barry doesn’t respond, just slides his hands up and onto Hank’s hips. “You did not seem to have fucking problem when I blow you right in this very spot the other day.” Barry groans, and Hank swallows it down in another kiss.

“I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Aw, so sweet,” Hank sighs sardonically. “But I would be comfortable riding you right here.” Barry’s eyes widen, and Hank gives him an innocent grin. Hank’s hands move from Barry’s face to Barry’s chest.

“Are you sure? You don’t...need to do that to make me feel good,” Barry murmurs. The ‘you don’t even need to be doing any of this at all’ goes unspoken. Ten more days until Barry’s cast is off. Ten more days until Hank stops feeling sorry for him and they both go back to living their normal lives. Barry focuses on Hank’s hands rubbing his pecs and belly instead of the nagging feeling that Hank has become a big part of his new version of normal. 

“Oh, trust me, I know. You lose your fucking marbles when I even _look_ at your dick.” Barry nearly chokes. “But I think would be killer time. And it would make _me_ feel really good,” Hank purrs. and begins gyrating slowly in Barry’s lap. “You feel good, I feel good, and you do not have to use your hands. Win win win. Points for Barry and Hank!” Barry chews on the inside of his cheek until Hank kisses him again. Tender, soft.

“Hank, I don’t have lube,” Barry admits as casually and coolly as he can. This is when Hank comes in with the backup plan. Maybe they can just make out and let their hands wander as they writhe together. Hank takes off his coat, but before discarding it onto the floor, he grabs something from one of its pockets.

“You take me for fool, Barry Berkman?”

Hank’s completely naked on top of Barry, hard dick dribbling precum onto Barry’s soft, gray sweater. The sweater that Barry decides needs to be discarded immediately. It’s too hot, Hank’s too hot, it’s all too hot and Barry’s much too hard to be dealing with suffocating clothing. Barry has two hickeys on his neck already, and he doesn’t have enough brain capacity to worry about how he’ll cover them up for work tomorrow. He glances over at the condoms and lube Hank had pulled out of his pocket, and he really needs to get all of his clothes off immediately. Hank helps him pull his sweater off, but then he’s back to working on a third hickey.

Barry makes a noise of confusion when Hank guides his hand down past his balls to his hole. Barry’s never touched him there before - thought about it extensively, though - but when he does, he finds that Hank’s already slick, and it makes him jerk his hand back a little. Hank grunts at the contact, but it devolves into a small chuckle at Barry’s reaction.

“Oh my god, relax,” Hank coos, and directs Barry’s hand back where he wants it. Barry’s other hand holds onto his own thigh for dear life as he explores around Hank’s hole with one finger. “I told you it would be worth it. I’m so ready for you.” The way Hank’s breathing pretty heavily has Barry’s heart feeling funny in his chest, but he prods his finger inside of Hank anyway.i89

Barry’s nerves melt almost completely away when Hank tugs Barry’s pants and underwear down to mid-thigh. It’s all that either of them need. This is what they know. Barry’s got two fingers inside of Hank and Hank can’t stop rocking his hips to get them deeper, to get them angled just how he likes. Barry’s dick aches as Hank opens and rolls a condom onto it, and Hank can’t seem to stop planting off-center kisses to Barry’s lips every other second. Barry’s hand shakes as he removes his fingers from Hank, but Hank’s confident as he slicks up Barry’s cock and uses the excess to make sure he’s well prepared. 

“Hands off,” Hank commands when the fingers of Barry’s bad hand curl into him desperately as Hank begins to sink down onto his cock. “Both hands.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Barry reminds him, “It doesn’t hurt to hold you, Hank, please. Jesus, god, shit.” Hank’s got Barry halfway inside of him, but he lifts his hips so he’s empty and Barry’s cock slaps back onto his own belly. 

“Maybe I do not want to feel your cast on me while I take your dick,” Hank growls in his ear, and Barry tries desperately to kiss every inch of skin he has access to as Hank leans against him. “Maybe I just want you to do what I say.” Instead of touching Hank, Barry reaches down to hold the base of his dick to give Hank a little more support, something more to work with. 

Hank’s blissed out face when he’s seated flush with Barry’s lap has Barry thinking again. They look at each other for a moment, Hank’s cheeks red and sweat beading on his forehead. Barry’s certain he’s in no better a state. He looks down to see Hank lift his hips slightly and rock back down, and the sight alone has Barry throwing his head back and moaning. Hank grinds in Barry’s lap, then begins rocking and bouncing at a more regular and controlled pace.

“What does it feel like?” Barry asks timidly, his right hand daring to settle on Hank’s toned ass. Hank allows it. In fact, he reaches back to encourage Barry to palm and squeeze his ass, which Barry happily obliges. Hank’s picked up the pace in the last few minutes, the sound of his ass hitting Barry’s thighs over and over becoming overwhelmingly obscene to both of them.

“Your dick feels so good, Barry, of course it feels amazing,” Hank sighs.

“No, no. What does it _feel_ like?”

“What does what feel like? I just told you. Oh! Feels fucking amazing.” Hank bites his lip and closes his eyes. “God, right there, Barry.” Barry groans ever so softly. He’s not even doing any work. 

“But...shit, Hank. No, not _how_ does it feel. _What_ does it feel like? To-”

“To take dick? And get fucked?” Hank finishes for him. Barry’s not sure he would have used such crude language, but he nods, and Hank slows his motions a bit to study Barry’s face. They’re both in no state to be having even a remotely serious conversation. 

“Yes.”

“God, Barry,” Hank moans, and he shudders as Barry’s thick head grazes across his prostate again. “I feel full, like I won’t know what to do with myself when you are not inside me.” Barry is trance-like as he watches Hank bounce and roll his hips in his lap. “It’s warm, and hot, and good, so good. So hard inside me, fuck!” The fingers on Barry’s left hand, laying useless beside him on the couch, curl into the couch cushion once more. “It’s a lot at first, I will not lie to you, but- _Barry_. The stretch. I’m so open for you. You split me wide open, feels so fucking good.” 

Barry’s never seen him babble this way. He knows Hank has a mouth on him, but it’s as though taking Barry like this has unlocked another level of intimacy and freedom between them. Hank’s borderline a mess, and Barry doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop thinking about what Hank just told him. Full. Stretched. Hard. Hot. Good. Barry scrambles to find words, but all he can do is make incoherent half-noises as his hips twitch upward slightly to meet Hank’s ass every time he bounces down in his lap.

“That’s what it feels like,” Hank punctuates, though he’s raggedly out of breath. He squeezes around Barry’s cock and angles his hips so he can take Barry as deep as possible while he buries his face in Barry’s neck, kissing and biting as he pleases. “Do you want that, Barry?” Barry’s sure his heart skips a beat. “Is that why you ask?” One of Hank’s hands moves from Barry’s shoulder to run his thumb across one of Barry’s nipples. “You want me to show you how it feels? Is that it?” Barry moans, something choked-out and embarrassing. “You want my cock, baby? I can give you my cock. You just have to ask nicely.”

Barry cums without a warning, Hank’s teeth on his neck, Hank’s ass tight and hot around his dick, and Hank’s hands seemingly everywhere on his body at once. Hank’s talking him through it, most likely whispering obscenities and praise, but all sounds are replaced by a ringing in Barry’s ears as he fills the condom inside of Hank. Barry barely catches the tail end of Hank’s orgasm just a few seconds later, looking down to see the complete mess Hank’s made of his hairy chest and belly. 

It feels odd to not be inside of Hank after Hank lifts his hips and lets Barry slip out of him. They shiver together as Hank slumps against him, the pair of them a sweaty, panting heap on the couch.

“Was that-”

“Shut up. Just for a second,” Hank cuts him off, accent a little thicker than usual. They make out lazily right there on the couch, Hank’s arms wrapped around Barry’s neck and fingertips playing with the somewhat long hair at the base of his neck, a sign that Barry’s due for a haircut. Hank looks Barry right in the eye when he pulls away with swollen lips. “You do not have to ask how it was after every single time.”

“I know, I just-” Barry starts, but Hank presses a finger to Barry’s mouth to silence him again.

“It’s always good,” Hank tells him, “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t make me feel good.” Barry takes a breath. This started as _Hank_ making _Barry_ feel good. The fact that it can be and is also the other way around...

“I know,” Barry restarts with Hank’s finger still mashed against his lips. “But this time was different.” Hank narrows his eyes and shakes his head, but there’s still a softness to his demeanor.

“It’s always good with you.”

——

They pick up their clothes and shower together, making an embarrassingly long pitstop on the way to the bathroom to completely cover Barry’s left forearm with cling wrap. They give each other space in the shower, but Barry still “accidentally” brushes his fingertips against Hank’s naked body whenever he can, and Hank fully lathers up and rinses Barry’s chest, belly, cock, and thighs. Barry has a fleeting thought about the body wash he bought for Hank.

Barry’s eyes widen when the water turns off. He forgot about the pack of toothbrushes next to the sink. They had both missed it when they came in, too focused on their post-sex haze and their eagerness to continue touching one another in the shower. Barry hands Hank a towel, then quickly wraps one around his own waist. He goes to stand in front of the counter to hopefully block what’s on top of it, but Hank’s eyes are much too quick and observant.

“Ooh, new toothbrushes. Those are best kind,” Hank hums, and Barry tries not to blush too hard, a plan foiled by his fixation on the water droplets rolling down Hank’s toned body. Hank steps closer and examines the unopened package. “Cool colors, too. Plus you have an extra!”

“Actually,” Barry says, and clears his throat. He’s surprised that he even has the courage to do this after Hank basically drained every ounce of confident energy from his body, but in the best way possible. “I thought maybe one could be for you.” Barry crosses his arms over his chest, and Hank tilts his head when he meets Barry’s eyes.

“For me?” Hank asks, hairless brows raised. “Oh, like, so I can stop using all your mouthwash after I go down on you.” Barry shrugs one shoulder.

“Or,” Barry posits, “if you want to stay the night.” He swallows thickly, almost audibly, and Hank notices his jaw tense. A silence hangs between them. “You leave kinda late sometimes. I just thought you might want to stay here. And get some sleep.” Hank looks surprised, and Barry can’t tell if it’s taken-aback surprise or mortified surprise. Hank’s face has a funny way of working sometimes. Barry rather likes looking at it regardless.

“I mean, yeah,” Hank responds, shoulders coming up to his ears just a bit. “Of course. If that is okay with you, obviously.” Hank’s eyes soften, and he sees Barry physically relax. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the whole point,” Barry tells him, and Hank starts helping him take the cling wrap off of his arm. Something to distract them both from saying something far too serious or dangerous.

“Are you sure your roommates are okay with me sleeping on couch?”

“What?” Barry asks, genuinely perplexed. Hank can see it in his eyes. “No, I meant, like, you can sleep in my bed. Unless you-”

“No, I know, I just wanted to hear you say it,” Hank grins, and Barry gives him a glare that grounds them both, brings them back to a reality they’re both used to.

Barry is hesitant to show Hank the rest of the items he purchased for him, but the look on Hank’s face when Barry pulls out the tray from underneath the cabinets is fond and adoring rather than perturbed and annoyed. Barry had forgotten to put the boxes of condoms in a separate location, so he shoves them back in the cabinet as quickly as possible. Hank giggles and kisses him on the cheek, though, then inspects the items and puts some of the lotion on his arms and legs.

They fall into bed together, Barry in his normal lounge clothes, and Hank in a borrowed In-N-Out t-shirt and gray sweatpants from Barry. It’s early yet, too early to go to sleep, so Barry puts on a movie on his laptop. He picks one he’s seen before so that he’s not annoyed when Hank inevitably talks through the entire thing. He didn’t care for when Sally would do it, but Barry snickers at every joke Hank makes and answers every single one of his silly questions even though, it turns out, Hank has seen the movie, too.

“I feel like we are having sleepover,” Hank murmurs when they start winding down for bed. “Like real classic Americans.” Barry grins softly and takes his shirt off, preferring to sleep in minimal clothing.

“I don’t think sleepovers usually start this way,” Barry comments, and Hank slaps his arm, but wiggles his brows nonetheless.

“Maybe they should.”

“I think you’re right.” Barry’s still smiling at the tail of his sentence, then he sees the pants and briefs he had lent Hank get shirked out from under the covers as the pair settle next to each other on Barry’s mattress.

“I sleep naked. Is that okay?” Hank asks as he pulls off the shirt and tosses it off the side of the bed along with the rest of the clothes. Barry nods and pulls off his own sweats, but leaves his boxer briefs on for now. Hank’s never seen or felt him naked outside of them having sex. It’s a little vulnerable for him. He knows Hank likes his body in the heat of the moment, but...

The light goes out and Hank rests his head on Barry’s shirtless chest and breathes a content sigh. They both hear the front door open and close, Jermaine and Nick not even trying to be quiet as they boot up a video game in the living room. Hank snuggles against Barry even further, draping an arm and a leg across his body, and Barry heats up when he feels Hank’s soft cock against his hip through his underwear.

“I wanted you to stay a few days ago,” Barry whispers at the same time that Hank shifts and clears his throat.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Barry instinctively responds, then slams his eyes shut. What an idiot. Hank stuck around after sex, thanked Barry and kissed him deeply upon seeing he had bought him a high spf moisturizing sunscreen, and happily cuddled with Barry while wearing Barry’s clothes in Barry’s bed and watching one of Barry’s favorite movies. And Barry can’t even say this one thing. Barry can feel Hank lift his head off his chest to try to look at him in the dark. “It’s just cool that you stayed.” Hank lays his head back down.

“Well, it’s _cool_ that you wanted me to,” Hank whispers, his tone partially (and playfully) mocking but fully something that makes Barry’s heart beat a little faster. “Hopefully I do not crush your wrist.”

“Again.”

“Yeah, again.”

Barry wakes up as the little spoon, slightly disoriented by the warm wall of heat at his back that he feels for what he thinks is the first time in his life. He feels lips on his shoulder blade, and, more importantly, Hank’s hand down the back of his underwear, massaging Barry’s ass and dancing his fingertips delicately between Barry’s cheeks. Barry keeps his eyes closed as he wakes up a bit more, slowly but surely. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Hank purrs, and Barry wants to roll over and kiss Hank good morning, but he’s frozen in place as Hank pulls at one of his cheeks, spreads his ass a little, just like how Hank was spread open in Barry’s lap just last night. “Remember that vibrator I brought over the other day?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. I hope you enjoy the final installation of this fic - it's been so much fun to write and see everybody's comment and reactions! Come talk about it with me on twitter @wehohank, or leave your kudos and comments below; they mean the world to me :) Thank you to AO3 user OverOnTheBench once more for being illegally funny and helping me with some dialogue toward the end!!

Hank traces his line of sight from Barry’s chin, up along his jaw, across his cheekbones, to his eyelashes. They’re still for the most part, but Hank’s lips quirk into a small grin whenever Barry’s eyelids quiver the slightest bit as he dreams. Hank wonders what he’s dreaming of. Wonders if it’s him. He fights the urge to reach out and stroke his thumb across Barry’s cheek in the early morning light. They’re certainly close enough.

It’s impossible to ignore the memories from the night before. Those same eyelashes fluttered ever so sweetly as Barry looked up at him, lips stretched around Hank’s dick for the first time. Barry bats his eyelashes when he wants approval, wants praise, Hank’s learned. There was a lot of that going on last night, too.

So now Hank lays on his side, covers pulled up to his shoulders to hide his nude figure. He gazes at Barry’s sleeping face, tuckered out from a night of firsts and frenzied kisses and tender words of encouragement. Barry lays on his stomach, head turned toward Hank and both arms folded above his head, his cast standing out boldly against white sheets and pillows and tanned skin. Four more days. Hank rakes his eyes down Barry’s body and almost moves to hike the covers up from where they’re resting just above the curve of Barry’s ass. Hank decides against it, decides he likes the way the plane of Barry’s back looks in the slight morning light.

Hank figures Barry must be able to hear the gears turning in his head. Barry hums and begins to slowly open his eyes. Hank shuts his own.

* * *

Hank’s eyes land on Barry’s bottom lip – specifically, the way Barry’s teeth sink into it as Hank’s fingers work between his legs. Barry’s eyes transition between tightly shut and wide open, wishing he could simultaneously revel in ecstasy and not miss a minute of what Hank’s doing to him. He still doesn’t fully understand what Hank’s doing to him – he doesn’t know why it feels like this, feels so good, doesn’t know why the stretch brings stinging pleasure instead of burning pain.

“That’s it,” Hank encourages him, though all Barry’s doing is holding one of his legs up and back, the other splayed out to the side. Hank still won’t let Barry use his left hand. Barry doesn’t know if it’s out of caution or because Hank doesn’t want Barry realizing he’s nearly back to being fully functional. “How does it feel?” Barry draws in a deep breath through his nose.

“Better than yesterday,” Barry murmurs, then hums a little bit as Hank curls his finger as if beckoning for Barry to come closer.

Yesterday wasn’t bad. Yesterday was good, actually, but Barry had already come once and every muscle in his body was fighting against the foreign sensation of Hank’s finger inside him. He couldn’t relax, no matter how many kisses Hank pressed to his inner thigh. So Hank dragged him into the shower, one of their favorite places, and stroked Barry off until Barry’s knees nearly buckled as Hank’s tongue explored his mouth.

“Is this how it feels for you?” Barry asks, and Hank’s smile is gentle though his eyes are dark. They’ve only had sex twice, but the last time, Hank decided against coming over already prepared and let Barry work him open before Barry bent him over the desk in his bedroom.

“Yeah,” Hank responds, all breath, and he looks up at Barry’s face with a confident expression. “Except your fingers are bigger than mine. Feels wicked crazy good.” Barry arches his back just the slightest bit, hips pushing down and out against the pillows Hank had stacked under them. “You want to try second finger?”

“Yes, shit,” Barry keens immediately. Hank licks his lips when he notices that Barry’s erection is full and thick once more, having flagged at the first press of Hank’s finger inside of him. Hank removes his finger and Barry lets out a shaky groan that resumes after Hank slicks up a second and starts pushing the two digits inside.

Hank’s other hand reaches up to smooth over Barry’s soft belly and his hairy chest, attempting to soothe him as Barry takes more than he’s ever taken before. Even when Hank had pressed the tip of the vibrator against Barry’s hole a few mornings ago, it didn’t hold a candle to this. Hank watches the way Barry’s mouth falls open. It’s like it’s all happening in slow motion, even when Barry’s adjusted enough for Hank to start pumping his fingers in and out at a normal pace. Hank can’t even begin to care about his own erection straining within his underwear. All he can focus on is Barry, and Barry’s lips, and Barry’s eyes, and the way Barry scrunches his eyebrows together when something’s particularly fucking _good_ , and the way Barry’s left hand scrabbles against the bedsheets searching for purchase Hank won’t let him find.

“No, no,” Hank instructs when Barry’s left hand reaches down for his dick, cast be damned. Barry relocates that hand to his thigh, tries to hold it up for Hank like he’s doing with the other. “No, Barry, stop.” Hank takes one of Barry’s balls into his mouth, sucks on it for a few seconds to really get Barry worked up and panting, both arms surrendering to the side of his head so his legs can relax. Hank pulls his mouth off of Barry with an obscene noise.

“When?”

“When what?”

“When will you let me touch myself? Or touch you?” Barry all but sobs as Hank’s fingertips prod against his prostate. Hank’s eyes light up as Barry’s cock twitches, as Barry plants his feet against the bed and tries to push his hips up despite there being no friction to chase. Hank doesn’t let him, anyway. Hank holds his hips down with one hand like always. Barry hates that Hank’s strong enough to do that. It makes him want to get on his knees, and that’s confusing.

“When cast is off,” Hank mentions reasonably before leaning forward and sinking his mouth down over the head of Barry’s cock, the hand on Barry’s stomach relocating to assist in this haphazard, frenzied blowjob.

_Hank will let me touch him when the cast is off._

The second Barry’s able to form a clear, coherent thought, he’s cumming, nearly shouting a string of obscenities as his orgasm takes a hold on him. He closes his eyes as Hank swallows him down, as Hank pumps and curls and scissors his fingers.

_Hank will let me touch him when the cast is off_.

* * *

Hank’s got a reminder in his calendar for Barry’s appointment with his doctor. Tomorrow at 3pm. It’s not that he’s going to go with Barry, he just…wants to look out for Barry and maybe send him a celebratory text afterward. Or maybe another gift. Hank pulls up the Edible Arrangements website again as he lounges on Barry’s bed and waits for him to get out of the shower. Maybe a vase of flowers would be more appropriate this time. But Hank kind of wants to see Barry lick the chocolate off of a dozen strawberries.

Barry came home from work in a bit of a mood, but still greeted Hank sweetly at the door. He knows that Hank won’t put up with his attitude. Or, at least not in a way that is feasible while Barry still has the cast on. 22 more hours.

So Hank lets him shower. Hank eyes his phone, scrolls through a variety of gift baskets available online, and darts his gaze toward his bag every so often. He grins to himself, something confidential even though Barry’s a room away. He hears the water turn off in the bathroom, hears Barry begin to unwrap his plastic-protected arm, and Hank decides on how he wants to go about things today. Their last hurrah. Their last hurrah? Hank moves quickly to get things out of his bag, placing something underneath one of Barry’s pillows and putting the lube on the nightstand as usual. Barry still hasn’t bought his own. Hank thinks it’s touching. It means that Hank’s fingers are the only ones working Barry open on the daily.

Hank undoes the three buttons at the top of his maroon polo and toes off his loafers before lounging back on the bed. Barry comes into the bedroom outfitted only in his boxers, still drying off his hair and shoulders with his towel. Barry looks at Hank, but Hank doesn’t look up, though he can feel Barry’s smile from across the room. When Barry’s completely dry, he tosses the towel in his laundry hamper in the corner and crawls on the bed to join Hank.

When Hank rolls back over after reaching to put his phone on the nightstand, Barry immediately begins to nuzzle at Hank’s clothed belly, shirt still tucked into his pants and belt still annoyingly buckled. Barry’s gone down on him a total of three times - well, the first time didn’t really count because Barry was so goddamn nervous that Hank had to instruct him through everything, which just embarrassed Barry and made him stop - and he’s already hooked on it. He’s not great, definitely not even in the top five for Hank, but Barry can’t get enough of trying to please Hank, and that’s enough to get Hank rock hard in a matter of a minute or two.

“Hi, handsome,” Hank grins down at Barry, and Barry rests his chin on Hank’s hip bone. Barry’s smile is something dopey and content, almost proud. The sun is getting lower in the sky and the rays coming through Barry’s window, blinds half-drawn, are golden. It’s comfortable. “Ready for big day tomorrow?”

Instead of answering, Barry brings one of Hank’s hands over from where it’s resting on the bed to help him undo his belt buckle. Hank can’t tell if Barry’s just being cheeky or he really doesn’t want to talk about it. He decides not to press it, especially as Barry’s hand presses firmly against the front of his pants. Hank undoes his belt and button and lets Barry drag his pants zipper down. 

“What, I do not even get a kiss first? You just want to suck me off?” Hank teases as Barry pulls the bottom of Hank’s shirt out of his pants and up his stomach halfway so Barry can see a bit of his abs.

“I thought you liked when I do this,” Barry murmurs a bit sheepishly, but maneuvers himself so his body is over Hank’s and he’s supporting himself on one elbow and one hand on either side of him. Hank initiates the kiss, pulls Barry in by his still-wet hair and just lets their lips slide against each other for a few moments.

“I thought _you_ like to kiss me,” Hank challenges, and nips playfully at Barry’s top lip. Another thing Hank’s learned about Barry is that he likes to be bitten - nothing too extreme, but little bites to his lips and neck and chest and hips and legs drive him absolutely crazy. Hank doles them out strategically. Barry gets a bit flustered at Hank’s words, and goes to explain himself when Hank physically puts a finger in front of Barry’s mouth to silence him. Hank smushes his finger against Barry’s lips and smiles. “I am kidding, silly. I just have something a little different in mind.”

“Wha’you wanna do?” Barry says despite the pressure on his lips. Hank gets momentarily distracted by sliding his finger into Barry’s mouth, to which Barry closes his lips around it and grazes his teeth against it ever so slightly. Hank shakes himself out of that little daydream, as if it’s a dream at all and not about to become a reality in a matter of minutes.

“Here, lean back.” Hank removes his finger and helps Barry get into a comfortable position against the pillows on one side of the bed. Hank takes the liberty to slide his pants all the way off, leaving his shirt and underwear on as he continues kissing Barry in this new position, licking against the roof of his mouth and the backs of his teeth. Barry grunts happily and continues feeling up Hank’s abs with one hand.

Hank reaches over to the side and grabs at something underneath the pillow, the one he usually sleeps on when he stays over. Barry watches the way the muscles in his neck tense, and when Hank resumes his position on top of Barry, Barry’s wearing yet another sleepy little grin. It’s the one that makes him look just a tad bit smitten. Hank’s mind drifts, wonders if-

“Whatcha got for me?” Barry breaks the brief silence, voice gruff and quiet as Hank sits atop him with his fist clenched around the object. Barry’s hand trails up and down Hank’s bare thigh.

“Just a little something I bring from home,” Hank states coyly, and Barry’s eyes are transfixed on Hank’s face, on the smirk he always wears when he has a brilliant idea, until Hank brings the toy into full view between the two of them. “I know you like to give me blowjob. And I know you like to get fingered. So I think: ‘Hey, why not murder two innocent birds with one rock,’ you know?”

Hank smiles down at the small, silver plug, the bulb just the right size for someone new to this, like Barry. Hank’s had it for years, picked it up in Moscow on a “business trip” while he was still in Russia. The pink, jeweled heart on the flared end glints in the sunshine that’s slowly disappearing behind the trees and buildings outside. Hank grins, and Barry does too, but it’s a grin Hank hasn’t seen before, and it’s paired with a furrow of the brow.

“Oh,” Barry says with a little chuckle. “Isn’t this for girls?”

“No, honey, this is for your butt,” Hank tells him pleasantly, excitedly. He lifts the plug upward with the bulb pointing up to get the message across to Barry. Barry looks half amused, half confused.

“No, I know, but this one...It looks like it’s for girls,” Barry elaborates, still grinning like he’s waiting for Hank to join in on the joke. Instead, Hank’s face falls. Barry doesn’t notice at first. He grabs Hank’s hand that’s holding the plug and tilts it so Hank can see the sparkly, pink heart. “See?” Hank’s mind goes blank for a second, then his stomach churns in embarrassment.

Hank pushes Barry’s hand off of his own.

“For girls? Sucking dick is ‘for girls’ too, but you seem to like doing that just fucking fine,” Hank hurls at him and tosses the plug next to them on the bed. Hank starts to clamber off of Barry, and when Barry reaches out, Hank pushes him away again.

“Hank, come on, I didn’t mean it like that, man,” Barry tries to explain, but Hank’s already off of the bed and searching for his pants that he had just discarded a minute ago. 

“Then how the fuck did you mean it, _man_?” Hank spits back.

“Like, I dunno. It’s a pink heart. You know?” Barry answers. It’s obviously not sufficient for Hank, who rolls his eyes, and not in the playful way he does when Barry’s being a tease or when Barry’s nervous as he tries something for the first time (and turns out to be good at it). Hank tenses his jaw and looks Barry right in the eye.

“So, what? You are scared of a fucking color?” Hank huffs, and laughs sardonically. “What, you just big tough macho fucking straight guy this whole time?” Barry freezes, his blood running cold when he sees the completely blank look Hank is giving him. Hank’s nostrils flare slightly. “Hm? Are you straight after all, Barry?”

Barry searches for words, but can’t find them with Hank looking at him like that. Hank tugs on his pants, buttons the button, zips up the zipper, and buckles his belt all while looking at Barry. Expectant. Hurt. _Angry_. All without a twitch of his brow or a frown on his lips. Hank works on tucking his shirt back in.

“Hank, just sit back do-”

“Nothing I do is ‘for girls.’ Everything I do is for Hank,” he says with less venom and more pain in his voice, though his tone is still steady and confident even as his volume lowers. “I am a man.”

“I know.”

“And I love men,” Hank goes on, looking annoyed that Barry had the audacity to interrupt him, his eyes wide but expression still grave. “And _none_ of that is for girls.” Barry takes a second to breathe, and Hank balls his fists at his sides. Barry wonders if Hank’s going to hit him. He probably deserves it, even though he doesn’t know what the big deal is about a butt plug. 

“Hank...” Barry tries to fill the silence. He knows Hank would be content just standing there for minutes on end just to make Barry feel as uncomfortable as possible.

“Good luck getting cast off, Barry,” Hank states casually, and it sounds like more of a conclusion than an actual well wish. Hank grabs his phone from the nightstand, slides his shoes back on, grabs his bag, and heads for the door to the bedroom. “Oh, wait.” He turns back around to retrieve the plug off of the bed, still laying idly next to a nearly-naked, sweet-smelling Barry. “Sorry, don’t want you to fucking melt like Wizard of Oz if you touch this thing.”

Barry’s exhale is shaky as he watches Hank leave, both his bedroom door and the front door slamming loudly upon his exit. He tries not to dwell.

* * *

Barry gets a coffee after his doctor’s appointment. His entire forearm, all the way up to his knuckles, is pale from being shielded from the sun for so long, but the long sleeve of his shirt covers it for now. He smiles politely as he hands his card to the cashier, nods to the barista when his order’s ready at the counter. He sits down at the last empty table in the cafe, leg bouncing as he looks around and clutches his iced coffee. Someone spills their sandwich onto the ground across the room. Barry takes a sip of his drink and wrinkles his nose.

It’s not a mocha cold brew, it’s a vanilla latte with almond milk and caramel sauce on top. Hank’s order. Barry hadn’t even realized the words that came out of his mouth at the cash register were the wrong ones. Barry tosses it in the trashcan on his way out the door a few seconds later.

* * *

10:43am: “Hey, Hank. Um. You didn’t pick up. I hope everything’s okay. Uh. This is Barry, by the way. Barry, uh, Berkman. Call me back.”

10:49am: “Hey Hank. I don’t know why I thought you’d pick up this time. I thought maybe you were in the bathroom or something. Oh, this is Barry again, by the way. I’m, uh, I’m sorry, Hank. That was really dumb of me the other day...I, uh, I got my cast off yesterday. Everything went well. But, hey, I did this weird thing yesterday where I accidentally ordered your coffee instead of mine. That’s weird, right? Anyway. Yeah. I’m sorry. You were just trying to...I was talking out of my ass. Well. Maybe that’s not the best...Anyway, call me back. This is Barry again. Uh, thanks. Bye.”

* * *

Barry doesn’t get a call back that day. The next day, he picks up Sasha’s shift while she auditions for a YouTube video and checks his phone obsessively whenever he can. It’s pathetic. He sits in his car extra long after work so he doesn’t have to go home to an empty apartment. He does anyway.

It’s just past six and Barry hasn’t eaten since breakfast but there’s a knock on the door and he stands up so fast he gets dizzy. It’s only a couple steps to the door from where he’s been sitting on the couch watching basketball for an hour. Barry tenses his jaw and opens the door, looking as pleasant and composed as possible.

“Hey, evening man, I just need a quick signature right here,” the delivery man standing outside his door says nonchalantly. He holds out his device and a stylus, and motions to the package next to him on the landing. Something dumb that Jermaine ordered on his credit card, probably. Barry scribbles some nonsense and hands it back to him.

“Have a good one, buddy,” Barry remarks and heaves the box inside, leaving it next to the door. He doesn’t feel like dealing with it right now.

Barry sits back down on the couch, but shuts off the basketball game and instead plays a puzzle game on his phone that Nick got him into. He still has his shoes on, still has his car keys in his pocket, like he’s taking a stance against relaxing.

Five minutes later, another knock.

“Another package?” Barry asks loudly as he opens the door once more.

“What?” Hank asks, a little stunned.

“...What?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody! No one. There was a UPS guy a few minutes ago, I thought he came back.”

“No, it’s just Hank,” Hank shrugs, smiling awkwardly. “I got your voice messages.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Barry swallows, and Hank looks down at his left arm, noticing that the cast is, in fact, gone. “Uh, you wanna come in?”

“Sure!”

Hank steps inside like he’s done dozens of times before, but the space between them feels like miles instead of the few inches that it actually is.

“So. Cast is off, wrist feels good, yeah?” Hank beams, but Barry can tell it’s put on. This is the Hank from two months ago, before they started seeing each other every day. It hurts. The ache starts in his chest and creeps down his arms, making his hands twitch.

“Yeah, it’s all good. I have to go to physical therapy, but...I’m all clear,” Barry tells him and clasps his hands in front of his body after closing the door behind the both of them. Hank nods at him and looks around the room as if it’s changed much in the three days since he’s been there.

“That is good to hear, man. Yeah, great,” Hank smiles politely. It’s what he does best, after all. “I-”

“I’m not, by the way,” Barry states, and Hank’s smile drops. He still tries to keep it up, but instead his eyes go wide before they narrow and he tilts his head.

"Not what? You just said you are all good,” Hank tries to clarify.

“That question you asked when you were here. I’m not.” Hank backs up against the door just to have something to keep him steady as he tries to decipher whatever bullshit code Barry is throwing at him because no one has, apparently, taught him how to form a clear sentence in his four decades of living. “And I’m sorry. I think I said that on the phone. That was dumb of me, the whole thing. Just - yeah. Sorry.”

“Why are you saying this? It is not like you have to prove anything to me now.” A beat.

“Why are you here, then?”

“Just wanted to check up on my bro,” Hank smirks, and it’s Barry’s turn to roll his eyes. Barry heaves a sigh.

“Come on, Hank, you don’t have to be like that. I shouldn’t have acted like that, I just...I realized...”

“Realized what? That you did not want to be with a man anymore?” 

“God, will you shut the fuck up?”

Barry takes half a step forward and brings both hands up to frame Hank’s face as he kisses him. Hank doesn’t kiss him back immediately, but when he starts to, his hands find themselves on Barry’s waist, and Barry feels like it’s their first kiss all over again. Except now he gets to feel Hank’s blush hot on both his hands, gets to appreciate the way Hank hums when Barry deepens the kiss because he’s not about to pass out like the first time around.

“You’re not what?” Hank asks again, but he knows the answer. Barry kisses the corner of his mouth, strokes his left thumb across Hank’s smooth cheek.

“I can’t say it out loud,” Barry admits, pulling back a little bit, but Hank makes sure to keep him close. “But I’m not what you said I was. I know I acted dumb. And that sucked. It wasn’t fair to you. I just got scared.”

“I got scared, too,” Hank confides, and Barry furrows his brow in response. “It should not have been big deal. I overreacted.”

“No, you-”

“No, your turn to shut the fuck up, Barry,” Hank drawls. Barry’s stomach flips when he realizes how much he missed hearing Hank say his name. Barry moves his hands to Hank’s biceps. “This was all just fun and games. I should not have got mad. Especially since it was our last time together.” Barry presses more into Hank’s body, keeps him pinned against the wall as he goes in for another kiss that Hank happily gives him.

“Yeah, fun and games,” Barry repeats breathily against Hank’s lips, but he has to pull away when the phrase fully registers with his brain. “It hasn’t been fun and games for me for a while, though.”

“This hasn’t been fun and games for me since, like, the first time,” Hank admits, eyes softening in a way that makes Barry’s heart hurt. “But I knew it was fun and games for you. Well, I thought. Like Scrabble, or perhaps Donkey Kong Country.” Barry doesn’t want to dive too deep into that, doesn’t want to think about how Hank would have happily been strung along even if Barry didn’t feel the same way. Barry just shakes his head, hopes his look of concern gets the point across to Hank that _I like you, I fucking like you, you idiot, and I’m an idiot but we’re both idiots and I’d kind of like to be idiots together_.

“God, what the fuck are we doing?” Barry asks instead before kissing Hank again, the action having become so natural and easy and _right_ to him.

“I _hope_ we are going to your bedroom,” Hank murmurs against his lips, then nudges his nose against Barry’s cheek. “And not for last time.”

Hank has Barry half naked and flat on his back on the bed in a matter of just a minute or two. It’s become a skill of his. That, and making Barry hard before he’s even touched him. Barry’s done a few Google searches. That shouldn’t be as much of a thing as it is at his age. He’s not sure what it is about Hank, but Barry’s never been so keyed up in his whole life. Maybe this is just what it feels like when someone realizes they’re - they’re a word, but a word Barry can’t say out loud yet, maybe a word Barry doesn’t even know yet.

“Did you have fun jerking off with cast off?” Hank purrs, peeling off his own jacket and shirt before climbing on top of Barry once more. The last time they were in this position, things ended very badly, and Hank went back to the stash house to cry a little bit in the shower. He did get two very awkward, very sweet voicemails out of it, though.

“I...tried,” Barry starts, but it’s hard to be coherent with the way Hank’s leaving sloppy kisses all around his nipples and collarbone. “But I kept thinking about you. And I didn’t know if I should. Or if I was allowed to. Because - um, you know. I thought we were over.”

“Aww, you said ‘we,’” Hank teases, but he’s not really joking at all. He shifts and feels Barry’s clothed erection against his own jean-clad thigh, and he moans against Barry’s chest. “Of course you are allowed to jerk off to me, fuck, that is so fucking hot.” Hank surges upward to press a bruising kiss to Barry’s lips. Barry’s been missing this, been needing this. “What did you think about?”

“Just...the way you touch me,” Barry says sheepishly, almost robotically. “I thought about how you put your hand on my dick while you..”

“While I what?”

“While you blow me,” Barry finishes, and Hank grins like a cat that got the cream. Hank pushes Barry’s boxers down but doesn’t give him the satisfaction of touching him just yet. Barry’s hard, his balls swollen and full, and while Hank desperately wants to get his hand or his mouth on him, he wants to try another suggestion.

“Show me,” Hank tells him. Barry tries to chase another kiss, but Hank doesn’t give it to him. “Touch yourself for me, Barry. I’m right here, is okay.” Hank smooths some of Barry’s messy hair back, then he rolls off of Barry to sit beside him. “Show me how good your wrist works now.”

“I could prove it on _you_ ,” Barry postulates, but Hank clicks his tongue and winks.

“No, I have been waiting to see this for loooong time, baby,” Hank muses. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”

Hank gets himself out of his pants and underwear, sitting naked next to Barry on his comfy mattress with the soft sheets and blankets that Hank was surprised to find out Barry owned - and had picked out himself. Barry’s hand finds his cock and he gives a good squeeze to the base before he begins to stroke himself, too embarrassed to look at Hank but not confident enough to watch himself masturbate, so he closes his eyes instead.

Barry’s essentially mortified when he realizes he needs a little bit more slickness. He finally looks at Hank after about a minute of jerking off slowly in front of him, his entire body hot under Hank’s attentive gaze.

“Um,” Barry says, but has to clear his throat so he doesn’t sound like someone who’s been chain smoking for the past two decades. “Can you...Can you get me the lube? It’s with the condoms in the drawer.” Hank’s hairless brows shoot upward, and he tilts his head to the side. That’s one of Barry’s favorite things that he does, but it’s at the top of a list of dozens of other little things.

“You bought lube?”

“Yeah.”

Hank makes a noise of intrigue, but doesn’t make any effort to get it for Barry. Instead, Hank leans over Barry’s body and lets a large bead of saliva fall from his mouth, landing right on the head of Barry’s cock. The noise Barry makes could have come straight from a porno, and it makes Hank want to start touching himself in tandem. He doesn’t, though, instead reveling in the wet sounds that come from Barry’s now-slick cock.

“You buy lube after I leave you that day?”

“Yeah,” Barry repeats, voice breathy as he picks up the pace on his dick.

“Why?”

“So I could…” Barry trails off when Hank reaches over to circle a finger teasingly around one of his nipples. “Oh, fuck. So I could maybe finger myself.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to finger yourself, Barry?”

“Because I want you to fuck me,” Barry blurts out in a hurry, and the right answer was probably _because it feels nice_ , but Barry’s sick of beating around the bush. Usually Hank’s the forward one, but he’s obviously trying to draw things out, either out of caution or out of spite, and Barry’s having none of it. 

Hank launches himself at Barry, nearly crushing Barry’s wrist yet again, but this time with the weight of his body instead of at the hands of one of his hideously-outfitted colleagues. Barry snakes his hand back up to a safe position and uses it to grab Hank’s cock instead. Hank lets Barry slip his tongue into his mouth, and Hank moans around it as he feels Barry’s hand move confidently up and down on his dick for the first time. The handjobs were good before, stellar even, but the way Barry’s able to completely reduce Hank to a writhing mess on top of him like this makes Hank a little pissed off at all the weeks he had to go without this.

“I thought about it the first time you came over,” Barry whispers, and Hank has to gently push his hand away so things don't get too messy too quickly. It’s not that Hank can’t go twice, it’s just...he doesn’t want to. Not tonight. It’s not exactly about him right now.

“My fucking...Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Hank nearly whines. “You wanted me to fuck you against your mirror, Barry?” Barry nods in response, not trusting his words right now. He’s already exerted an atypical amount of confidence and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep it up. Hank knew Barry was...thinking about this since the first time Barry fucked him, but Hank had no idea the yearning ran that deep. “Very fucking interesting. Maybe next time we make dream come true.” Barry nods again and arches his back, but his heart rate increases at the prospect of a next time. It feels real, tangible.

Hank makes Barry get on his elbows and knees, legs spread wide so Barry’s cock drags against the fabric of his comforter while Hank pumps two fingers in and out of his hole. Barry protested at first, said he wanted to be able to see what was happening and be able to kiss Hank, but Hank wanted to retain at least some control, as sweet (or selfish) as Barry’s request was.

“See? I tell you this angle is good,” Hank coos over the small hums and groans falling from Barry’s lips that get muffled slightly by a pillow. 

“I don’t want - ah, shit, right there - I want to see you when you fuck me,” Barry states.

“I know, baby, you will,” Hank reassures him. “However you want it, you will get. Okay?” Barry nods desperately and pushes back on Hank’s fingers. “Your ass is so good, Barry.” Barry shakes his head now. “Oh, don’t even try to fucking argue with me, mister. Every time we wake up together I have to convince myself not to eat you out.” Barry shivers, and Hank sees the goosebumps raise on Barry’s lower back. Hank pulls one of Barry’s cheeks to the side and watches his fingers piston in and out.

Barry’s barely able to hold himself up when a third finger presses inside of him. Hank folds himself over Barry’s body, his unoccupied arm hooked around Barry’s torso to help hold him up. Hank’s cock hangs hot and heavy against the back of Barry’s thigh, and usually Barry would be nervous, but right now he just _wants_. He spent the last few days a combination of miserable and horny, and he rendered himself unable to fix either of those things.

“You have ever felt this full before?” Hank asks, and Barry really needs him to stop talking before this is all over. Perhaps that’s what Barry missed the most - Hank’s voice, or rather Hank’s innate ability to know exactly what Barry wants and needs to hear, to feel. Barry shakes his head fervently, and Hank can sense the desperation that Barry refuses to speak into existence. “You are doing so good for me, Barry. So perfect. Tight.” Barry’s head rolls back and he looks up at the ceiling, arching his back for Hank as he moans. Barry will do anything, take anything for any amount of time just to make Hank keep sweet talking him like this.

Their hands fumble against each other as they both try to roll the condom onto Hank’s dick, Hank on his knees between Barry’s spread legs as Barry lies on his back. Hank chuckles a little and acquiesces, letting Barry take care of the task at hand. He likes seeing Barry this way, even though both their hands are shaking. Hank’s done this countless times before, but…

“You ready, cowboy?” Hank asks, stroking one hand over Barry’s thigh, his fingertips grazing through the hair there. Barry finishes with the condom, makes sure there’s enough room in the tip, and gives Hank one stroke for good measure.

“What? This isn’t cowboy,” Barry responds. He’s pink in his cheeks and on his neck and a little bit between his pecs, but it’s covered by the hair on his chest. Hank can’t complain too much about that. It’s a fair trade-off, and Hank runs two hands up Barry’s chest just to feel. “Cowboy is where I’m on top of you and I’m fa-”

“Barry, sweetie, is just a fun, funky nickname for you,” Hank explains, leaning forward to drop a kiss onto Barry’s slightly dry lips. “Were you reading karma suture?”

“No, just Google,” Barry responds. He takes a deep breath as he watches Hank grab for the lube and work on getting his cock nice and slick from base to tip. “Did you know there’s one called the wheelbarrow?”

“Did you know we’re about to do one called the I Fuck Barry Berkman And It Is Crazy Fucking Bonkers Even Though It Is Missionary?”

“What’s wrong with missionary?”

“Barry,” Hank sighs and makes sure the pillow underneath Barry’s hips is in the right place. Barry spreads his legs a little further and Hank’s cock twitches to one side. Barry notices. His eyes go dark, then he looks up at Hank to find him equally as affected. “We stop if you want to, okay? Any time. Just say so.”

“I don’t want to stop with you,” Barry murmurs, words barely coherent through both of their nerves, but Hank clicks his tongue and breathes out of his nose. He lines up the head of his cock with Barry’s hole, getting comfortable between his legs and placing a steadying hand on his hip.

“I do not mean forever. I mean when my dick is in your ass and you decide you don’t like it.” Barry stares at him for a moment, chest starting to heave just from the mere pressure against his ass.

“I’m...I’m going to like it,” Barry whispers. Hank looks at him, brows raise expectantly, willingly. Barry nods. He catches his drift. Hank’s ready, and Barry’s been ready for weeks. Hank holds his tongue. Barry might not love it, but he might. Hank loves it, but not everyone can be Hank. Hank circles his cockheaded right around Barry’s hole, and Barry arches his back once more. “Can I have it?”

Both of Barry’s hands grip desperately at the bedsheets. Hank coos at him to relax as he pushes just the head inside, but even that is a _lot_ for Barry. Hank’s thick and hot and _hard_ and - once Barry’s moans taper off as he adjusts to the stretch, he thinks back to when Hank rode him for the first time. In a haze, Barry asked Hank how it felt, and now Barry’s realizing how right Hank was, and Hank hasn’t even given him half his cock.

“Need to stop?”

“No, fuck, no, Hank,” Barry babbles as Hank keeps pulling back a centimeter and pushing back in, teasing Barry with his plump head. “I want to feel you.” Hank pulls back slightly, then gives Barry another inch and a half.

“Can you feel that?”

“Oh, _Hank_ ,” Barry groans, and the way Barry squeezes around him makes Hank hiss and bite hard into his lower lip. “Yeah, yes, shit, I feel it.” 

“You look so fucking pretty around my cock, Barry,” Hank growls, and Barry has to close his eyes. He can take Hank’s cock, and he can take Hank’s words, but the two of them together makes him feel like he’s about to sink right through the bed. “You like that stretch?” Barry doesn’t know what this feeling is. “You take it so good, baby, fuck.” He thinks he wants more of it, though.

Barry opens his eyes when Hank is fully sheathed inside of him, and the first thing he sees is Hank staring right back at him, just as always. Hank’s got beautiful eyes. They’re dark and expressive and kind when they need to be, ruthless when they don’t. Hank’s got sweat beading on his forehead and sweat shining across his collarbones and the veins in his arms are all but bulging.

“Oh my god,” Barry sighs, and looks down to where they’re joined together. He can’t see anything besides his own dick, working back up to full hardness after softening a little somewhere around inch number four, and Hank’s pelvis pressed against his body, which feels even more erotic than it looks. “Hank, it’s so deep. Oh my god, it feels so deep.”

“Alright calm down, Barry, I am not _that_ big. Jeez,” Hank teases, but his smile only lasts a second because Barry clenches around him again. Hank groans and does his best not to make any sudden movements. “Shit, can I move?”

“No,” Barry replies immediately, and Hank sighs, half impatient and half relieved that Barry’s not pushing himself before he’s ready. “God, kiss me?” Hank’s head falls to one side on an exhale, then he’s folding himself over Barry’s body.

“Of course you are a fucking romantic,” Hank mutters against Barry’s lips before kissing him deeply, feeling Barry’s cock twitch between both of their bellies. “Good thing I like to kiss you.”

“I like to kiss you, too.” Hank nudges Barry’s nose with his own and smiles, and the moment would be so tender if not for Hank’s cock resting fully inside of Barry. Maybe it can still be tender, but Hank shifts a little to the left and Barry groans directly into his mouth, which makes Hank’s dick twitch inside him, and then Barry’s pleading, “Fuck me, fuck me, please?” But Hank really doesn’t need all the niceties right now. He’d give it to Barry even if Barry asked - no, demanded - in the filthiest way possible.

Hank starts slowly, pulling out nearly all the way but thrusting in only halfway, and it’s enough to get Barry making plenty of noise. He places a hand on Barry’s chest for leverage, the other grabbing the backs of one of his knees to keep him nice and spread open for him. Not that Barry has any issue opening his legs for Hank. Barry’s practically incoherent, just little babbles of Hank’s name and half-words, until Hank’s cockhead grazes against his prostate when Hank angles his hips a certain way.

“ _Hank_! Oh my god, oh fuck, holy fucking shit, Hank,” Barry moans, and Hank gives him a few thrusts at that angle to keep him talking. “I don’t - it’s so good, god, it’s so much.” And it’s not the prettiest or raunchiest dirty talk Hank’s ever heard, but goddamn if it isn’t _honest_ as hell.

“Yeah? You like that dick?” Hank asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer to his question. “Been wanting to do this for so long, Barry. So worth it. Such a sweet ass.” Barry blushes profusely, and Hank would keep talking if he wasn’t so out of breath, not even realizing he had started fucking Barry even harder, even faster. Barry’s sweating all over and he’s sure it’s gross, but his dick is achingly hard now. He feels Hank nudge his prostate one more time, and precum drips onto his belly to mix with the slick sweat there.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Barry growls, but he reaches down to grab his own dick.

“What?” Hank pants. He doesn’t relent, though. Barry’s face is too blissed out to make Hank think he’s actually upset or needing to stop.

“Why do you have to - mm, _god_ , Hank - have to be so fucking good at this?”

“Why do you have to take it so well?” Hank poses, and Barry tosses his head back as he strokes himself, trying but failing to keep in time with Hank’s semi-deep thrusts inside of him. “Hm? Like you were fucking...made for my dick.” Hank’s ridiculous and saying ridiculous things, but he’s holding onto both of Barry’s thighs for dear life as he drives into him and the only thing that’s really ridiculous is how quickly Barry starts tumbling toward the edge.

“Hank, I’m - Hank.”

“I know,” Hank states, but doesn’t give up. He gives it to Barry at a steady pace, watches as Barry’s hand works over himself, almost frenzied. 

“Slow, slower,” Barry instructs, and Hank obliges, rocking with Barry and leaning forward to chase Barry’s lips as he thoroughly fucks him. Barry feels the drag of Hank’s cock inside him, feels the way the head threatens to stretch his rim when Hank nearly pulls out (but never does), feels sweat drip down from Hank’s brow and onto his own nose.

“You going to cum on my cock?” Hank purrs, and the question alone almost makes Barry lose it, but Hank’s said much dirtier things to him and he’s always managed to maintain composure. It’s different when he’s this full, though, this stretched and open and vulnerable and alive for Hank. “You feel so good, Barry. So good for me, baby.”

Barry whines high in his throat. He’s immediately embarrassed, immediately close

“What? Hey, look at me.” Barry does. “You like when I call you baby, baby?” Hank’s voice is soft, and Barry feels that familiar coil in his belly that’s about to crack like a whip. Though he knows Barry’s perfectly capable of stroking himself off, Hank takes over anyway, wrapping those tatted fingers around Barry’s cock for what feels like the thousandth time. Barry looks down between them and sees Hank pumping him, sees Hank helping him chase his orgasm in earnest, as if it’s very far away. “Come on, honey. Cum for me, yeah? You’re doing so good.”

For the first time since they first started, Barry’s mostly wordless as he cums, his lips pressed hard against Hank’s own as Hank swallows down every moan and gasp and muffled murmur of his name. Barry’s held, Barry’s full, Barry’s arching off the bed like he’s laying on hot coals instead of his freshly-washed comforter. He makes a mess of Hank’s hand and his belly and even his chest, some of his own release making it up almost to his chin.

Hank would draw things out, would keep taking Barry even past his breaking point, but Barry’s orgasm makes him squeeze so slightly around Hank that Hank can’t quite take it anymore.

“Barry, baby, shit, Barry,” Hank whispers against Barry’s sweaty face. Hank lets go of Barry’s dick and reaches down to stroke the base of his own as he remains halfway inside of Barry. Barry’s breathing is still erratic as his orgasm tapers off, as his body stops feeling like it’s about to snap in half with how pent up he is, and he squirms as he watches Hank start to fall apart on top of him.

Hank’s face contorts and his mouth opens just the slightest bit. Barry’s arms spread out to each side and he grabs at his pillows as Hank’s whole body stills, including his hand on his cock. A groan rips through Hank as he spills inside of Barry, and Barry can feel his heat even through the condom. Hank thrusts all the way back inside of Barry and rides his orgasm out like that, just fully together, writhing with each other, and Barry reaches up to pull Hank’s head down to mash their lips together once more.

“Barry,” Hank sighs against his lips, but Barry keeps kissing him, darts his tongue out to taste the sweat that’s formed on Hank’s upper lip. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, _fuck_ ,” Hank grunts as he feels himself come down from his climax, both of them shuddering together through the aftershocks. “Jesus, Barry, I think you suck the soul out of me.”

“What?” Barry sighs, words still coming out lazily as his brain tries its hardest to return to full operation. “I wasn’t even sucking you.” Hank shivers and has to pull out before this become far more than either of them can handle.

“God, you - you know what? No. That was just…”

“Kiss me?” Barry asks again, and Hank situates himself fully on top of Barry, thighs bracketing his hips in a straddle position. Hank’s a little breathless as he fulfills Barry’s request, because for the first time, Barry doesn’t ask how it felt for Hank. 

They make out like that for a little while, but Hank whispers something about his legs feeling like jelly and he rolls off of Barry after half a minute. They lay side by side on Barry’s bed, Hank not bothering to take the condom off yet, and Barry not really minding the absolute mess covering a fair portion of his torso. They look up at the ceiling, but then Hank realizes he’s missing the way Barry’s eyebrows move and wiggle when he’s trying to catch his breath. Hank turns his head to the side to find Barry already looking at him.

Barry’s tired face sprouts a smile immediately upon seeing Hank. Hank witnesses Barry’s eyes soften as he grins at him, tight-lipped and endlessly adorable. Hank smiles back, a small smirk just for the two of them. Barry stretches his legs, flexes his feet as his thighs and calves tense, and Hank just has to look at them. They really will have to use that mirror next time. Hank needs to see the way he makes every single one of Barry’s muscles react when he gives him that very first thrust.

Hank drags his eyes back up to Barry’s face - Barry, who’s still wearing that same smile that has Hank wondering if he’s about to thank him or kiss him or tell him something far too serious. Instead, Hank feels hot skin against his hand, and he starts to react negatively to the tacky sweat until he feels Barry’s fingers lace through his own. He sees the rise and fall of Barry’s chest, gentler than before, out of the corner of his eye, gaze still primarily fixed on Barry’s lips and nose and jaw and sleepy eyes.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” Barry asks softly, and although it’s quiet, the sound of his voice startles Hank. Barry reflexively squeezes his hand. Hank’s eyelashes flutter as his smile widens.

“Yes. For a long time.”

* * *

Barry can’t say that an empty bed is his favorite thing to wake up to the morning after being on the receiving end of Hank’s infinitely passionate lovemaking for the first time. They had slept curled up with one another, Barry pressed up behind Hank after falling asleep while kissing his bare shoulder. It was nice. Was. Barry stares at the empty side of the bed and feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to feel after really good sex.

When Barry wakes up a little bit more and all of his senses start to operate normally, he hears the crackle of something on the stovetop through his closed bedroom door, and immediately grabs for his phone to check the time. It’s 7:30 - if Nick skipped his morning run like he always does on Thursdays, then that’s probably his turkey bacon sizzling in the decades-old pan they found at a thrift store that definitely needs to be thrown out.

Barry throws on a pair of sweatpants and the In-n-Out shirt he lent Hank the first time Hank spent the night. He pads out to the kitchen, blinking himself more and more awake as he recognizes more than one voice coming from the common area.

“Barry,” Jermaine greets him from an armchair in the living room, but he doesn’t sound happy.

“Barry!” Hank sighs fondly from the kitchen. Barry’s eyes adjust to the light, and he stretches his arms above his head, both shoulders popping in the process. Jermaine scowls. Hank’s eyes light up. Barry’s eyes focus on Hank, naturally, and he sees where there might be an issue.

Hank’s wearing nothing more than Barry’s boxers that got discarded on the floor amid last night’s rendezvous, and they’re sitting so low on him that Barry seizes the opportunity to stare extra long at Hank’s hip bones.

“Barry, man, when were you gonna tell us this Croatian dude was your boyfriend all along?” Jermaine asks bluntly, mildly annoyed, and Barry can tell he’s tired - Hank likely woke him up while trying to navigate their disorganized kitchen.

“Jeremy, I already tell you. It’s complicated, man,” Hank explains after sighing in exasperation.

“My name’s _not_ Jeremy,” Jermaine pouts under his breath.

“Okay, hang on,” Barry tries to mediate, but Jermaine crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders coming up to his ears.

“He’s got fucking prison tats, man. This dude’s definitely been to jail,” Jermaine goes on. “I’m low key kinda freaked out, Barry.”

“Whaaat? Come _on_ man. Sometimes you just have to go to jail a little bit!”

“No! You don’t!” Jermaine tries to argue, but Hank just rolls his eyes in response and flips an omelet in the pan before doing the same with two other pans.

“Good morning, Barry,” Hank drawls sweetly, and Barry’s not sure if it’s the sound of Hank’s voice or the smell of the food that draws him closer to the kitchen. Whatever the reason, he ends up there anyway, ends up behind Hank, ends up kissing his shoulder just like he did the night before. Jermaine makes a retching sound from across the room. “Oh, for fucking Peter’s sake, man. I am making you omelet, too, do you want it or not? Because I can throw it right down garbage disposer.”

“It’s garbage _disposal_ , man. Disposal.”

“Do you like breathing?”

“Hank!” Barry scolds lightly, but he’s laughing against Hank’s neck, and Hank shivers at the ticklish sensation as he starts to plate the food.

“Hey, I thought his name was Henry,” Jermaine points out, and Barry starts thinking about how easy it’d be for him to get a place of his own to not have to deal with this, as nice as it is having Jermaine around for nonsensical late night chats. Hank opens his mouth to respond, but Barry knows it’ll only lead to disaster (aren’t the most beautiful things always the most chaotic, anyway?), so he answers for him.

“Hank is short for Henry,” Barry states. “I think.”

“You are absolutely right, babe. So smart,” Hank compliments him, and Barry can feel the eye roll from Jermaine without even looking. Jermaine huffs and comes to the kitchen island to get his food before taking it to his and Nick’s room to eat. “So sexy, too.”

“Hank,” Barry whispers, still standing behind Hank, and Hank turns around once the burners are off to stand against the counter, letting Barry press him against it a little bit. “I was, uh. I was a little scared you left.”

“No, why would I leave?” Hank asks lightly, but then his face looks genuinely perplexed, lips pursed together to make his mouth look small and inquisitive.

“I don’t know. I’m glad you didn’t,” Barry admits. He trails his left hand up Hank’s arm, ghosts his fingers over Hank’s neck, and finally settles on cupping Hank’s jaw, just staring into those alert, responsive brown eyes. There’s no _thank you_ , no _last night was-_ , no nothing. Just an understanding between the two of them. Barry would rather like Hank to stay. And Hank would rather like to pamper Barry whenever and wherever possible. Hank wraps his arms around Barry’s neck and grins, like the grin he gave Barry the night before as they held hands and looked at each other, the evening hours all blurring together in their hazy togetherness.

“Well, I am glad, too.”

* * *

Hank has to leave at some point mid-afternoon, but he’s not gone long when there’s yet another knock on Barry’s door.

It’s another Edible Arrangement. Instead of a gargantuan mess of assorted fruits, this time it’s a platter of a dozen or so strawberries dipped in chocolate, the whole thing wrapped in cellophane. Barry takes it from the delivery man with an awkward grin, and waits until he sets the platter on the kitchen counter to read the note attached.

_Congrats on getting cast off! You look really good when you jerk off now. Cannot wait to see it again._

_xoxo HANK_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! you can find me on twitter @wehohank; it would mean the world if you left kudos and/or comments if you enjoyed it!


End file.
